Whumptober
by GloriousPurpose12
Summary: I've decided to take up the Whumptober challenge. This is going to be a collection of Marvel one-shots. I remembered it was October way to late to actually do this in October, so I'm just doing it through November, haha :)
1. Chapter 1

Prompt No. 1 Shaky Hands

**Hey guys, I know I haven't been very consistent at updating my story, Falling, so in an effort to get back into the habit of writing, I've decided to take up the Whumptober challenge. This is going to be a collection of Marvel one-shots. I remembered it was October way to late to actually do this in October, so I'm just doing it through November, haha :) I'm going to try to post once a day, but we'll see how that goes… alright, prompt 1, Shaky Hands.**

Freedom is life's greatest lie.

Everyone always seemed to have a list of rules to follow, expectations to meet. There was always someone with a plan for him, and normally that person was controlled by someone else.

He was supposed to be royalty. People always seemed to think that being a prince gave one power, gave one choices, gave one freedom.

It was more like being caught in a web. He always had someone to let down, someone to disappoint. Naturally, there were consequences for mistakes.

Of course, he had seen this coming. He wasn't a fool. Loki knew from the moment that he set foot on Midgard that things couldn't possibly have ended well.

When he'd told the humans to kneel, told them that they were meant to be ruled, he was merely parroting a speech he himself had heard hundreds of times.

And it was true. There was always someone who thought they had control of you, always people manipulating. But by the time Loki had agreed to go to Midgard for Thanos, he was tired of his life. He refused to keep on living as a tool or a pawn. When he stepped through the portal, Loki determined that he was never going back to that dark prison.

He had succeeded in his goal. He wasn't back with the Chitauri, and his mind was his own once again. Laughably, however, he had ended up in another jail.

Asgard's jail was so much better than where he'd been before. He was in relative peace and safety, with guaranteed food, warmth, a bed, and even visits and books from Frigga.

And even though the peace was nice - even though the safety was a relief - Loki was already getting bored. When Frigga next visited, he would ask for some new books, maybe a journal. Currently, he was using a small, empty goblet from his meal as a ball. Laying on his back, Loki tossed it up, caught it, and threw it again. He'd been at it for over an hour now, but the repetitiveness of the task was becoming too rhythmic, and his thoughts kept straying.

Thunk. Loki flinched, forgetting to catch the cup and ending up with a mark on his face. He hissed softly, shaking away the memories of Thanos looming over him. Briskly, he launched the cup again. With his other hand, he brushed the forming bruise and cursed himself. A small illusion quickly obscured it from any prying eyes.

Thunk. He caught and threw the goblet, his movements a bit more stiff.

Thunk. Loki pressed against the bruise, narrowing his eyes against the shadowy figures in his peripheral vision. Figments of the imagination, he told himself.

Thunk. His hand was trembling now as it moved from the mark to a scar near the corner of his right eye.

Thunk. He pushed - too hard. He could see the raised blade from his memories directly in front of him.

Thunk. It was suddenly very dark. Loki was sparring with Thanos. Loki was only inhibited by a collar restraining his magic. He wasn't bad with a short blade, but Loki had quickly learned that the point of these exercises was for Thanos to prove how powerful he was and how futile resistance was. These sessions irrevocably ended with Loki being beat near unconsciousness. It wasn't enough to just surrender, if Loki didn't try to evade or attack, he'd quickly face serious consequences. The first time he had let his knife clatter to the floor, Thanos had paused. Loki had stared numbly at his blade, terrified of his actions and hoping that their match would end.

He wanted the pain - the humiliation - to stop.

Thanos had lowered his sword, shaking his head slowly.

"It;s obvious that you're weak, but to not even try? How pathetic." Loki didn't move, his chest heaving with exertion. He closed his eyes. "You're worthless to me if you refuse to work with me". Loki had opened his eyes just in time to avoid being decapitated. He swiveled, but there wasn't much he could do without his short sword. He ended up with his left leg broken in nine places on top of the normal bruises and cuts.

The second time he had dropped his sword on purpose, he had wanted it all to end. There wasn't a point to any of this. Why should Loki work with Thanos? And why bother trying to leave? There wasn't anything for him anywhere. He couldn't see an escape or life outside this new prison, so he hadn't moved out of the way of the next swing.

Next he knew, Thanos had him by the throat, lifting him off the ground.

"Oh no. You don't get to leave just yet. I still have plans for you."

They wouldn't let him die. When he started to refuse to eat, they had simply allowed a strange beetle to burrow into his arm. He was told that it was drinking his blood and replenishing missing nutrients. It left a huge, festering sore. Loki was revolted and in agony. He quickly resumed eating.

The final time Loki had dropped his sword was on accident. Thanos had delivered a powerful blow, and Loki had tried to block it too directly - his arm went numb and his weapon went flying. Thanos grunted in frustration.

"Weak!" He bellowed, lashing out again. Loki had dove to the side and flung out his hands to block the blade. It sliced across his palms, leaving Loki crouched on the floor, briefly immobilized by pain. Thanos growled, backhanding Loki and sending him sprawling. Blood was seeping from where his fist had hit and Loki was sure he had heard something crack. The cut never healed right and left a scar near the corner of his right eye.

Thanos had thrown Loki's dropped weapon at him.

"Get up!" He shouted. Loki reflexively stretched out his blood-slick hands to catch the hilt of the sword and -

Thunk.

The goblet hit the back of Loki's shaking hand before clattering to the floor. Loki sat up, staring in disbelief at his hands. They were trembling so much that he shivered in disgust. He used one quivering finger to trace the slim, straight scar on one palm before tucking them to his chest and rocking back and forth. He was struggling for breath, trying desperately to shake the cobwebs from his mind and anchor himself in the bright, gleaming room he was in.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that before he heard a voice.

"Loki?" Thor's hesitant voice cut through his panicked breathing. Loki couldn't help himself - he laughed. Of course Thor would pick now to visit. "Brother?" Thor asked worriedly. Loki laughed again before lifting his head to meet Thor's anxious eyes.

"What do you want?" He whispered. Thor stared at him.

"Loki…" He paused, eyes raking Loki's face. "I don't remember you having all those scars." Loki stopped laughing. A quick review told him that several of his illusions had fallen off. He snarled as he strove to weave spells that would gradually soften and shrink them. Thor spoke again, "Are you okay?"

Loki stood and stretched. "Perfectly fine. I'm rather enjoying whiling away at eternity." Thor studied him, and Loki nonchalantly swept his arms back, clasping his hands begin his back in an effort to hide the shaking. "Why are you here?"

Thor cleared his throat. "I wanted to ask you… that is…" He stepped forward, raising a hand above his head to rest his fist against the barrier of Loki's cell. "What happened? We were friends, brothers. You were always getting us in troubles, and I realize now that you were jealous of the throne - or my power - but…" He sighed, clenching his fist. Loki was staring at him, expressionless. He wants to know why I would betray everyone. Why I would betray him.

"You're not making this easy." Thor grumbled.

"What is your question, Odinson?" He said with faux pleasantness, smirking inside as Thor frowned.

"Why must you sound like that? I know you can't be happy while you're imprisoned. I just want to know what happened after you fell… why invade Midgard? It's crazy, even for you." Loki shrugged, burying memories of Thanos and the Chitauri under a thoughtful expression.

"Perhaps I am crazy. People have said worse." Thor's frown deepened.

"Brother, please. We're trying to understand - to help you." Loki snarled.

"Two things. First, I am no kin of yours, Odinson." Venom seeped through every word. "Second, I'm afraid you and dearest daddy will never understand - and you're far too late to help." Thor growled, banging his fist on the magic barrier.

"You're a fool. If you choose to remain so - so - so prickly, I hope you'll enjoy your stay here." Thor stormed away, not bothering to press for answers. What did it matter? They had the rest of their lives to snipe at each other. Perhaps one day Loki would be worn down enough to share his story, regardless of how it endangered Asgard. Until then, all he could do was look forward to visits from his mother.


	2. Chapter 2

**Prompt #2 Explosion**

The door to the stairwell banged open. Clint fired off an arrow from his perch at the edge of the building and swiveled to assess his situation.

"Ah crap." He muttered. Six armed men had appeared.

"What's your situation Hawk?" Cap's voice cut through the headset. Clint snapped two arrows as he rolled, dropping one of the men and catching the other in the thigh. Bullets flew by his head, forcing him to take cover.

"I've got five of them. I'm kind of pinned down." He fired another arrow without looking, trying to fend off the encroaching bullets.

"Stark, can you get to Hawkeye?"

"I'm a bit busy at the moment, Cap." Tony's strained voice was accompanied by the sound of gunfire and small explosions.

"I will be there momentarily, Clint." Thor said. Clint fired another arrow, hearing the men getting closer. 'Momentarily' wasn't going to cut it. His mind was reeling.

"Actually, I've got it under control." Clint grabbed a different arrow from his quiver. "There aren't any civilians under my building, right?"

"I don't think so, why?" Clint ignored Steve's question. He dove out from his cover, rolling into a kneeling position while drawing his arrow. He took a quarter second longer to make sure his aim was perfect — he only had one chance. The men spun to face him, a few bullets flying wide. Like idiots, they were all clustered together. Clint's arrow soared straight to the middle of the group, landing on the ground. A split-second before the arrow landed, Cap's voice rang through the ear piece.

"You'd better not be doing anything stu-" That was the last thing Clint heard before his world exploded. The arrow beeped once before setting off an explosion that was a lot larger than one would expect from a small arrow.

He shut his eyes, turning away from his mark. Clint felt himself fly backward, a wave of blistering heat turning cold through the jacket against his arms and back. His ear pieces shrilled and popped as his body slammed into something hard. He tried to roll in on himself to minimize the damage, but ended up slamming his shoulder against a hard brick. His shoulder popped and cracked as he skidded across the rooftop. Clint couldn't see anything but smoke and fire. He stuck out his arms, trying to grab onto something to stop his moment, but couldn't find anything.

Within a moment, the hard ground dropped out from beneath him, and he was falling.

Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap ran through his head. Clint twisted in the air, clinging to his bow and grabbing one of the few arrows that remained in his arrow. His should screamed in agony, refusing to work smoothly. Clint gritted his teeth. He knew the ground was fast-approaching. He was about to be a Clint-pancake. _Shitshitshitshit_. He knew he couldn't pull back the drawstring regularly with his shoulder, so he switched hands, fumbling frantically as he braced one foot against the bow to support his shoulder as he pulled the string with his off hand. He could see the crumbling building now as he fell from the smoke. No time to aim precisely. Clint released, praying the arrow would latch onto a solid piece of the ruined structure. He gripped his bow, refusing to drop it when the line trailing from his quiver went taught.

The jerk sent a stabbing pain through his shoulder. He couldn't focus through the pain, and his body ended up slamming into the side of the building he had just exploded. _Shit._

Clint hung there for a while, trying to work up the strength to pull himself up. Black smoke was still billowing from the building, but most of the debris had stopped falling. He couldn't imagine pulling himself up - his shoulder screamed at the thought. Clint groaned, he knew he had to get started. Wait.

_Damn_.

He cleared his throat, just to make sure. Yep. His hearing aids were completely busted.

Perfect. In the middle of a mission, surrounded by hostiles and cut off from his team who had just witnessed the building he was on explode. Completely ideal. _Crap._

Clint paused to take stock of his situation. He wasn't actually that far from the ground, maybe he wouldn't have to pull himself up. He studied the drop. If he wasn't careful, it could easily lead to a broken ankle. He briefly reconsidered pulling himself up before dismissing the idea. He pulled a knife out of his boot and slashed the wire. His stomach dropped as his body was falling again. Clint landed on his feet, but let himself crumple into a roll. His ankles burned and his vision whited out as the ground crunched against his shoulder. He let himself lie on the ground for a moment before crouching. He slowly turned in a complete circle, scanning for any signs of life. There was no one in sight. He stood up, testing his footing before taking a step. His ankle flared with pain and he crumpled to the ground.

Anxiety was starting to set in. He was sure his team mates would be on the comms by now, pestering him with questions and trying to figure out if he needed assistance. But the explosion hadn't just fried his hearing aids, it had knocked off his mic as well. He turned in a circle again, gripping a nearby chunk of building to steady himself.

Clint took a steadying breath. He sat down, leaning against his partial cover to briefly tend to his injuries. He bit his lip as he grabbed two arrows from his quiver. He stared at them sadly before snapping off the arrowheads and fletching. He ripped part of his shirt to tie the arrows to his leg to create a make-shift splint. He shrugged off his jacket and rigged up a sling for his arm. He stared at it in dismay for a long moment.

_How am I going to shoot my bow like this?_ He gritted his teeth as he used his weapon as a crutch and shoved himself upright. He didn't have anything to treat the burns, so he would just have to bear it. He had to keep going with his mission - he couldn't let the team down. He had been on top of the building to keep an eye on everyone and rain down arrows from above. He was supposed to let them know when the building opposite his was empty so they could get in there and search the lab.

The Avengers had received news of some strange noises, smells, and explosions from the target building. There were rumors of mutants and illegal human testing. The people responsible had fled by the time the team arrived, but they were still planning on searching the lab.

The rest of the Avengers were spread out across the town, hunting down individuals who had fled from the scene and making sure there were no civilian casualties

As quickly as he could, Clint made his way to the building. He kept swiveling his head back and forth, trying to stay as aware as he could. He made it to the entrance without seeing anyone and paused. Clint checked behind his back, slinging the bow over his shoulder and pulling out his knife. He would finish the mission. He couldn't let his team now. Clint crept through the door, stumbling as he tried to stay low. He was scared. He had lost his balance and knew he wouldn't be able to fight well. He couldn't hear people coming up behind him, and he had lost connection with the team.

_Eh. It could be worse. Remember Budapest?_ Clint advanced, determined to find the lab and clear it out. He approached the stairwell and was contemplating how best to hobble down them when he felt someone behind him.

Clint swiveled, barely dodging a knife aimed at his throat. He stumbled and was about to fall down the stairs before he fell forward, taking down the enemy with him.

They rolled, Clint awkwardly trying to restrain him while his bound shoulder screamed in protest. The man lashed out with the knife and used Clint's backward flinch as an opportunity to throw him off. Clint landed and rolled backward, springing to his feet and to the side.

Normally, this would be a smooth move, but with his ankle, Clint barely managed it. The man was on his feet as well, and the two circled, Clint refusing to trip over the debris. The man lunged, and Clint hopped to one side, kicking out to trip his opponent. He dove on top of the sprawled figure, using his legs to pin his arms and switched his hold on his knife to slam the hilt into the man's temple. The body went limp, so Clint scooped up his knife and slipped it into his boot. Clint glanced around the room again before heading down the stairs.

He made it about halfway - progress was slow and painful - before another man appeared at the foot of the stairs.

_Shit_ He had a gun.

Clint dove to the side grabbing onto the other stairwell to avoid the shot he knew had to be coming. The muzzle followed, staying trained on him. He dropped into a low crouch.

_Crapcrapcrap_. _Shit._ Clint knew he had to look ridiculous - he couldn't tell when the gun fired so he was bobbing around like a chicken.

His side burned as a bullet grazed him. Clint had taken off his bullet-proof jacket to secure his arm and cursed under his breath. _Crapcrapcrap._

Clint steadied himself and lunged at the man. He stumbled back in surprise as Clint suddenly leaped from halfway up the stairs to slam into him. The two crumpled, and Clint rolled forward over the man's head, swiveling in a crouch to slash out with his knife. He caught the man's shoulder as he was pushing himself to his feet. Clint kicked his hands out from beneath him and deftly used the hilt of his dagger to knock him unconscious.

Clint sat back, breathing heavily. _Two down and who knows how many more to go_. Clint was now facing another flight of stairs. He gripped the rail, moving swiftly. He desperately wanted to finish the mission up so he could get his shoulder looked at. Clint turned with the staircase and ran right into three more men running up the stairs. He and the man he'd run over fell down the stairs. Clint gripped the man, using him to break his fall. When they hit the ground, the man went still, and Clint rolled over onto his feet, stumbling badly as his shoulder and ankle announced their displeasure. The two other enemies were running back toward him. They both had guns.

_Damn_. This was quickly becoming repetitive. Clint threw his knife at the male and rushed the woman.

He didn't make it very far. A great pressure pushed into his shoulder, sending him stumbling. The pressure was accompanied by a burning, tearing sensation. Clint crashed to the ground. There must have been someone behind him with a gun. Clint couldn't move. He tried to roll over to see who was coming up on him, but stopped when the pain flared. This is where you die.

Clint waited for someone to approach him, or for another shot to finish him off.

Nothing happened for a long while. He stared at the ceiling, wondering what had happened.

He flinched violently when someone suddenly touched his shoulder. He lashed out with his dagger, missing widely as his shoulder refused to co-operate. Another hand grabbed his wrist, shaking the knife out of his grip.

Natasha leaned over him, her red hair sweeping across her face. Clint relaxed immediately, grinning at her worried expression.

"_How bad?_" She mouthed. Clint laughed.

"I may need some help… getting out of here." He slurred, breathing heavily. Her face was swimming in and out of focus. She said something else. Probably something about how stupid he was. He huffed. "Sorry Nat." She shook her head.

"_Next time you decide to blow up a building you're standing on top of, let us know, birdbrain._" Clint hummed as she started wrapping up the gunshot wound.

"I'll think about it." He groaned as they picked him up. He grinned at his team - he knew they had his back.

**Hey guys! Sorry for the crappy ending. I plan on writing prompts from several more characters POV's, but I'm not sure how confident I'm feeling about them, so I apologize in advance if they're ooc. Any tips to keep them in character would be greatly appreciated! Also, let me know whose POV you like better - that way I can use them for future prompts.**


	3. Chapter 3

Natasha - Secret Injury

"You must be someone _very_ important to know so much," Natasha purred, leaning in closer to her victim. She paused - this next part was vital. "You boss must trust you a lot."

Natasha was at bar, dressed for a night out. Her mission was to collect information from some shadow organization. They had hear whispers that these people dabbled in human trafficking and illegal arms deals. Steve was personally convinced that they had alien tech inspired from the New York invasion.

Natasha's target was a tallish man approaching middle age. He was Russian, and when Natasha had first heard him speak, she had tensed mildly. The man, Igor, chuckled.

"Oh _Kotik_, I am the boss." Natasha smirked. She had her suspicions that this man was high up in their order, but she had to be sure. Natasha slipped into Russian.

"The boss, eh? Is this just a local business? Or do you have _real _power?" The man brightened as she switched languages. He lowered his voice.

"There are none above me, _myshka, _and my power stretches across nations. Now, let me buy you a drink." That was enough. Natasha shrugged.

"If you insist." Igor turned to the bartender, ordering something in English. Natasha used the moment to discreetly un-clip a charm from her charm bracelet.

Natasha palmed the charm, drinking her cocktail and flirting with Igor. She was careful not to pry to much, but still managed to figure out a few more details.

Igor lived by a port and hated it. This was to be expected - he needed to be able to travel overseas quickly. He was probably situated near an airport as well.

He had several guns, including two on his person and a knife in his boot.

More importantly, Igor was at the bar by himself and seemed to be in a hurry to imbibe a lot of drink. Natasha managed to gather that some deal had recently gone wrong.

Nat finished her drink and gave a tipsy giggle. She lurched forward, grabbing his shoulder to steady herself.

She wanted to laugh as he smirked, gripping her arm to help her straighten. People saw what they wanted to see, and to Igor, Natasha was just another drunk girl at a bar. As she was pulling away, she pressed a tiny button on the charm in her hand. This released a painless sliver of a needle into her target's neck. The needle was equipped with a tracker. She giggled again.

Igor grinned and turned to order more drinks. Natasha took hers from him, sloshing a bit out of the glass. Nat swallowed her disgust. _His_ plan was perfectly clear.

Natasha was ready to leave - she just had to slip something into his drink in order to erase his memory of this evening.

She leaned forward again, laughing loudly at something he had said. Her hair swept forward, briefly obscuring his glass as deft fingers spilled a liquid into his drink. Igor didn't notice a thing. He was already verging on drunk.

Out of the corner of her eye, Nat noticed the door opening. Five men stamped in, all glaring at Igor.

_Damn_.

Nat assumed that these people had some business with Igor - probably something to do with his recently failed deal. She was not particularly inclined to get caught up in some sort of gang fight, but she need Igor alive.

_Never thought you'd have to __protect_ _your target. _She thought, sipping her drink. She decided to stay where she was for the moment, tracking the group that had entered as they split up, slowly making their way towards the bar.

Two more men entered. Natasha bounced her leg, wondering how many people she could take. She stood up abruptly, pretending to sway. Igor reached out to steady her, but she waved him away.

"I just need to use the restroom." She smiled. "Don't go anywhere!"

Natasha moves out of Igor's line of sight. She reached up to click on the mic in her necklace. Her earrings were little ear buds, but her team had promised to stay quiet unless Nat reached out to them first — she didn't want to risk anyone overhearing anything.

"I've got at least 7 men zero-ing in on the target. I may be a bit late — I have to keep the situation from escalating." She whispered into the mic.

"Do you need backup?" Cap asked. Natasha sighed.

"No. Now be quiet."

Three more people had entered the bar. Natasha frowned. This was way too many for just one target. Either they had suspected Igor to have brought bodyguards, or there was someone else in the building. Natasha made her way back towards Igor.

Two of the men had approached him, and three others were only a couple seats over.

"Igor, you promised us." The blond one said.

"Our boss isn't going to take no for an answer." The taller one leaned in, grasping Igor's shoulder.

"Look at him, he's too drunk for negotiations." He slipped into Russian.

"If you don't pay us what we're owed, we will ruin you. We will take everything." Natasha hung back for a moment. Things were getting interesting. Igor mumbled something incoherent. The blond one scowled.

"I think Kyril is getting tired of your empty promises." He snarled. Natasha saw the tall one reach for a gun. "You have ten seconds to make up your mind, Igor." Igor growled, throwing Blondie's hands off of him.

"You knew the risk!"

"Five seconds."

"You need to give me more time!"

"Four."

Igor's face darkened. "You will never get your money."

Blondie remained impassive.

"Three… Two-" Igor tackled Blondie, the two tumbling to the floor. Natasha raced forward, knocking the gun out of the tall one's hand just as it fired. She went down, sweeping his legs out and striking the pressure point on the back of the neck. He collapsed like a crumbling wall. Natasha spun, springing up to jump the men on the stools. Straddling one of them around the neck, she swung him around, using momentum to grab the other thug's head, twisting it and sending all three of them to the floor. An elbow to the nose and Natasha was rolling away from the heap, using her legs to knock the stool out from under the third guy. Gunshots were ringing throughout the bar now, the innocent civilians screaming and cowering. Natasha sprinted forward towards where Blondie had Igor pinned with a gun against his temple. He whispered something, finger tightening around the trigger when Natasha hit him. No time for elegance, her knees went straight into his head as she twisted to jerk his wrist away from Igor's head. The bullet hit one of Blondie's accomplices in the gut.

Natasha rolled forward, twisting his wrist at an impossible angle. It cracked, and Blondie screamed and dropped the gun. Natasha rolled to the side, already anticipating the other thugs.

Five down, five to go. Natasha was already on her feet, charging a cluster of three. They all had guns aimed on her. She dropped into a slide, taking out the middle guy on top of her and used him to block the others blows.

She elbowed him in the gut and kneed him between the legs. He went rigid, and Natasha threw him into one of his friends, rolling the other way to hop up and punch the third goon in the nose. He dropped his gun, and Natasha elbowed him in the temple, spinning all the way around to make sure that the second guy was down. He wasn't, so she pulled out her sidearm and shot him in the quad and shoulder.

She crouched immediately, a bullet whizzing over her head. She swiveled to face the remaining two thugs. She rolled forward and to the side, landing in a kneel to fire at them. They both went down, and Natasha paused, pulse racing, to collect herself.

All ten were down.

Or so she thought.

A gun fired, and Natasha didn't move in time.

The bullet caught her just below her ribs, biting all the way in.

She gritted her teeth and spun to fire at Blondie. He had somehow procured another gun and was grinning from where he lay. At least, he was grinning until her bullet crashed into his shoulder. Natasha tottered, slowly turning to make sure no one else was still mobile. Most of the civilians had fled, except a few cowering in booths. The only person moving was Igor, running for the door. Natasha let her hair obscure her face as she followed him out.

She grabbed her necklace, gasping out a report.

"There were ten of them, all incapacitated. Possibly one or two casualties. Civilians are all fine and Igor is running Northeast."

"You okay, Nat? You sound out of breath." Nat touched her side and winced. She was losing a lot of blood, but that would have to wait.

"Well, yeah, Cap. I just took out ten bad guys." She chuckled. "I'm fine. I'm following Igor to inject him with the memory serum and see if I can filch any documents off him."

She paused to quickly wrap the bullet wound. She had some bandages in her handbag, and the bullet hadn't gone all the way through, so it was a relatively simple matter.

_Burns a bit, though._

She didn't have anymore time. Nat took off sprinting, tracking Igor's drunken stumble through the night.

The bar was in a dumpy little seaside town, and there wasn't any cover or anywhere to go. She just had to catch him before he got a car or boarded a boat.

She over took him quickly. He glanced behind him, confusion splayed all over his face.

"What… what are you doing?" Nat didn't feel like anymore small talk. She simply slammed a needle straight into the side of his neck and watched as he crumpled.

_Hmm… maybe should've led him somewhere more discreet first. _

She paused, gasping and clutching at her blood drenched bandages. She was starting to get dizzy, and the running and adrenaline had only caused the blood to pump faster. She needed to finish this mission quick.

_This dress is probably ruined. _She thought sourly as she reached down to grab Igor. She dragged him off the road before rifling through his pockets. She pulled out a small notebook and pocketed it to look through later. She opened his wallet and took pictures of every card inside.

Natasha then dragged his body 2 agonizing miles to a different club. She had to stop several times to pain from the wound was starting to spread throughout her abdomen. She paused outside the door of the bar to take his jacket off and wrapped it around her so no one would notice the blood. She asked the barkeep for a phone and called a taxi.

By the time the taxi arrived, Nat was struggling to maintain consciousness. Igor was barely awake, and Nat whispered to him that he had gotten drunk and in a fight at the bar, so she had called him a taxi to take him home.

She watched as the taxi pulled away from the booth she was collapsed in. Her injury was really painful, and hadn't stopped leaking blood. She sighed, reaching for her necklace again.

"I'll be at the… I'll be at the checkpoint in about 30 minutes." She whispered into it. Cap responded immediately, alarm spilling through his voice.

"Nat? Are you okay? You don't sound good." Natasha barely had the energy to speak again.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." She didn't know how she was going to manage a 30 minute walk, but she knew it was important that no one saw the Avengers come into town. "Be there soon."

_Better get started_.

Nat pushes herself to her feet, side screaming in protest. She made it a few steps out the door and down an alley before she collapsed.

She wasn't aware she was falling until her head struck the ground.

_Ow. _ She groaned, struggling to rise. Her side was bleeding again, soaking through the bandage and the dress, spilling onto the ground.

_That's… that's not good. _She thought, pushing herself up.

She collapsed again, halfway to her feet. She was unconscious when her head struck the cement again.

Natasha groaned, feeling extremely nauseous. She rolled over and checked her watch.

_Damn._

She'd been laying there for ten minutes. Her team was definitely going to worry about her. She clambered to her feet and wandered back into the bar. She headed straight for the bathroom, intent upon cleaning up her wound. She already wasn't going to make it back to the check point in time, and if she didn't fix herself some, she wasn't going to make it back at all.

Natasha locked the door and stripped off the bloody dress. She put it in the sink to soak and sat on the toilet lid to examine the wound.

At least the bandage wasn't dried to the bullet hole - it was too wet for that. She peeled it off and grabbed a wet paper towel to clean around it, ignoring the slow, steady pump of dark red blood. Natasha grabbed a bottle of disinfectant, her hand quivering as she yanked off the cap.

She took a deep breath, gritting her teeth, before pouring the liquid directly onto the wound.

Immediately, it hurt furiously. A deep, stinging ache wracked her stomach, and Natasha couldn't hold in a groan.

She quickly packed the wound with some medical gauze, supplementing that with paper towels. She re-wrapped it with tape, carefully securing it. Natasha then paused, dropping her head into her hands. She gave herself a moment to even out her breathing and relax. It would definitely need stitches, but Nat need to remove the bullet before closing up the wound. And she definitely wasn't going to do that in some dumpy bathroom.

Natasha stood up, rinsing out her dress again. She couldn't get the blood completely out, but it was a decent quick-fix. She slipped on the wet dress and pulled the jacket over it.

She checked her watch as she exited the bar again. She had five minutes to make the thirty minute walk. She groaned, clutching her head. She started off, walking as briskly as she could manage.

Minutes later, Stark's voice cut through her earrings.

"Romanoff? You good? Cap's already suiting up to come rescue you in case you need a knight in shining armor." Natasha rolled her eyes before responding.

"Had to take a detour. I'll be there in 25 minutes. Tell Steve that I'm no damsel in distress." Stark laughed, clearly relieved.

"Will do." His voice faded out, he seemed to be yelling something at Steve. There was a pause before Tony said, "Well he says to tell you that next time you need to take a 'detour' to let us know _before_ we all presume you to be dead."

"Only if it doesn't compromise the mission." Nat responded, voice flat. "I'll be there in 20 minutes."

Twenty minutes later and Natasha hadn't reached the checkpoint yet. She sighed, grabbing the mic before they could say anything.

"Hold your horses, Stark. I'll be there in six minutes."

"It's Steve. What's keeping you?" Cap asked, clearly uneasy. Natasha hummed.

"Nothing of consequence. See you soon."

"If you have any more delays, we're coming to get you." Natasha's eyes narrowed.

"Relax, Cap." Natasha's pace had slowed quite a bit. She was limping, clutching the seeping wound in her side. She straightened, groaning with effort, as the jet came into sight.

"Knock knock." She said.

"Who's there?" Stark asked. She hissed.

"Open up Stark, I'm here."  
"Already on it Romanoff, geez."

The bay of the jet was opening, and Natasha quickly walked inside. Cap was waiting for her, concern evident in every line of his posture.

"What's wrong?" He asked, coming towards her. She side stepped him, heading to the medbay.

"Just got a graze. I'll fix it up and then give you the report." Steve followed her.  
"You're limping." He observed. "Let Bruce help you." Natasha shook her head, rifling around for a bullet extractor, a needle, nylon sutures, and more gauze. Steve stared as she snatched disinfectant.

"What did you do?" Natasha ignored the question, sinking down onto a table. She grabbed scissors before glancing up at him. Bruce, Tony, and Clint had all appeared as well.

"Are you going to leave? Or?" She asked, starting to cut at the dress. Clint rushed forward.

"Jesus, Nat. Let someone help you." He pushed the scissors down. She glared at him, jerking back.  
"I'm _fine." _She insisted. Tony threw up his hands.  
"Well then, I'll retract my good wishes until later. I'm going to go start up the jet." He turned and left. Steve stayed where he was and Bruce walked forward slowly.

"Do you mind if I have a look?" He asked calmly. Natasha glared at him.  
"I've got it." Clint glared right back at her.

"At least tell us what happened, Tasha. You scared us all to death." Natasha wanted to scream.  
"I got shot." She said in a clipped voice. "End of story. Now, if you'll excuse me, I want to take out the bullet and stitch the wound up in a timely manner."

"I can do that." Bruce said, moving to pick up the bullet extractor. Natasha whisked them out of his reach.  
"Leave me _alone_." She hissed. An irrational fear was welling up inside her. Back in the Red Room, she'd always been on her own. She'd stitched up every cut, splinted every broken bone by herself. She didn't _need_ anyone else. She didn't _trust_ anyone else. Clint saw her panic, and waved Bruce and Steve back. He perched on the table next to her, a careful distance away.  
"Natasha, listen to me." He whispered. "You're safe. You're on the Avengers jet. You're with friends. Natasha, you're not in the Red Room. You can relax. You can trust us." He stared at her, pleading with wide eyes. Natasha stared at her feet. "I know - we all know - that you're capable of taking care of yourself." He laughed. "You just single-handedly took down ten gunmen in addition to the rest of your mission. _We_ trust _you_, Tasha." He paused, studying her face. "If you really don't want our help, fine. We care about you, Nat. We want to help you. We're just asking that _you_ trust _us_ this time." He waited carefully.

When Natasha gave a tiny nod, he scooted in closer, draping an arm across her shoulder. "Let's let Bruce take a look, okay?" Natasha took a shuddering breath before nodding.

Once she'd changed into leggings and a loose T-shirt, Nat was ready to collapse. She fell into a bed in the med bay and closed her eyes, letting Bruce extract the bullet and stitch up the wound.

He had barely started when she fainted.

She woke up to people scrambling about in alarm. Someone shoved an oxygen mask on her her face, and someone else was rambling about blood lose and a blood transfusion. A needle pinched her arm and she slipped away again.

When she finally woke up for good, Clint was drowsing in a chair by her bedside. His eyes opened as she struggled to sit up. He helped her sit up, thankfully ignoring the way she tensed when he first proffered his arm.  
"Thank you." She whispered. Clint smiled.

"Thanks for trusting us."


	4. Chapter 4

Tony - Stitches

"Crapcrapcrap." Tony gritted his teeth as a blast from the gun-like thing the weirdo in front of him was holding hit him in the chest. He was blown backward, somersaulting towards the ground. '_Not ideal.'_

He tried to slow himself so he could aim properly at the strange being shooting at him. Another blast knocked out the propulsion in his boot.

"Shit!." He couldn't stop spinning. "FRIDAY, set right arm to missile and fire automatically."

"Yes sir." The right arm of his armor detached itself and fired at the target. Tony didn't see it hit, but felt the explosion. He was flung backward again, and this time he plowed into a ruined building. His other boot stuttered and went out, and Tony was free falling.

"Ah, damn it!" He hit some beam and was started spinning the other direction.

Tony flung at his hands, trying to grab onto something - anything. He was clawing at empty air, plummeting towards the ground and-

Blinding pain ripped through his unarmored arm as he hit something. Tony yelled as his momentum slowed. He had just enough presence of mind to grab onto whatever it was with his armored arm.

"Shit." He moaned, clinging on. He had hit some sort of jagged, broken, metal beam. His bare arm had slammed into it first and he had been caught like a fish on a hook. Before it could all the way up to his wrist, Tony had managed to grab it with the part of his suit that was still working. He stared at his mangled arm - he couldn't feel it anymore.

"Shit. Guys, I may need some help up here." He was now dangling at least seven stories off the ground. He managed to unhook his arm, but it immediately started pulsing blood. 'Crap. Did I hit an artery?" He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as the blood ran down his arm and dropped to the ground far beneath him.

"Tony? What happened?" Cap asked through the comms.

"Well, I got that bastard but he knocked out my suit, so I'm kind of stuck up here." Tony had been fighting the supposed leader of the small army that had attacked the city. The others were ground level, taking on the rest of the baddies. Well, except for Clint. He was perched somewhere picking those things off with arrows.

"What's your location?"

"Good question." Tony moaned, opening his eyes. He was beginning to feel dizzy. "FRIDAY, lock the suit in position." He glanced around him. "You know Cap, I really couldn't tell you. There's a lot of smoke and shit. I think I was towards the center of the city when I went down."

"You're gonna have to give us a bit more to-"

"Wait! Mr. Captain America sir! I can see him! I'll get him!" Peter's voice pitched through the speaker. Tony grinned.

"Awesome kid. Hurry up, would ya?"

"Yes Mr. Stark. Coming sir!" A short minute later and something rattled the beam Tony was clinging to. By then, Tony was dozing. The movement made him flinch, and the beam snapped.

"Damn it kid!" Tony was plummeting again.

"Mr. Stark!" A something stuck to his suit, pulling like a bungee cord. "I got you!" Peter's web snapped. "Ah! Maybe not!"

"Kid! Hurry up!" Tony yelled, tensing for the impact. Thwipthwipthwipthwip. Tony bounced, stiffening as he anticipated the webs breaking again. The suit bounced and swayed gently. He glanced down. Only a story off the ground. "Hey kid?"

"Yes Mr. Star?" Peter was hanging upside down by Tony's head.

"Catch." The suit opened up, and Tony let himself fall out of it.

"Shit!" Peter screeched, jumping forward to grab Tony before he could hit the ground. His suit sprouted the spider-legs, gently rolling the two off them over and over as they landed.

Peter carefully set Tony down, retracting the legs and standing up right. Tony glanced at him, swaying on the spot.

"Thanks kid." He managed before crumpling to the ground.

"Crap! Mr. Stark? Are you alright." Peter shook Tony, but got no response. "Um, guys?" He paused, stuttering. "Um, Mr. Stark fainted! What should I do?"

"What?"

"Did you get him?"

"Is he injured?"

"Oh, yeah! He's, like, bleeding? Kind of a lot?"

"Okay Peter, I'm gonna be right there. See if you can try and put pressure on the wound." Bruce instructed calmly. Peter nodded, studying Tony's arm hesitantly. He couldn't really see where the blood was coming from, so he wrapped both hands around the man's wrist, flinching as the blood squelched.

"He's bleeding a lot." Peter whispered, feeling light-headed.

"OK, just hang in there, Peter. I'm almost there. Did you put pressure on the wound?"

"Um… I think so. It's kind of hard to tell." Bruce's voice tightened.

"Where's the injury."

"His arm. Like the underside of his forearm. There's blood everywhere." Peter managed, voice trembling.

"You're doing great, Peter. One more minute. Try and see if there's any blood pulsing."

"I grabbed his wrist, cause that's where the artery is, right?"

"That's right. There's also one near the crook of his arm. Make sure nothing's throbbing there."

"Ohmygoshyou'rerighthe'sstillbleedingfromrightthereIgrabbedittoobutthere'slikeapuddleofbloodnowandIthinkthecutgoesallthewayuphe'sactuallygettingreallycoldpleasehurryup!"

Bruce could see the pair of them, Peter frantically rambling into the mike, crouch over Tony's still body.

"It's okay Peter. I'm here now. I need you to keep holding on for a moment, okay?" Peter nodded, a small whimper escaping him. Bruce raced up, kneeling down in rush and skinning his knees. He threw open his first aid kit. Tony's arm looked really bad. He was laying by a small puddle of blood, his arm completely soaked in his. Bruce whisked out some pads and disinfectant. He wiped away at the blood, working as quickly as he could without rushing. As soon as he wiped it away, more blood welled up. It was enough, Bruce had seen the extent of the cut. It went from the crook of Tony's elbow all the way to his wrist - very likely cutting two arteries, or one artery in two places.

"Son of a…" Bruce trailed off, glancing at Peter. "Okay, Peter, I'm gonna need your help right now." He passed him a wad of gauze. "Press this into the cut where it starts on his elbow." Bruce wiped it again, and Peter slammed it down as it started spurting. "Just hold it there."

He grabbed a long strip of gauze and tied a tourniquet up by Tony's armpit. He strained, tying it tight. Peter stared, frozen.

"We're going to need an emergency evac." Bruce spat into the comms. "Hospital, ASAP." He stared at Tony's arm. "I don't have the necessary tools with me to fix him up."

"On it." Clint responded. "I'll get the jet, but you're losing your eyes, Cap."

"We'll be fine. Get him to safety." Bruce grabbed a water bottle and another pad. He had Peter apply pressure to Tony's wrist while he swiped the elbow and poured water onto it, trying to see the extent of the damage.

"Peter, what's your blood type?"

"Um… It used to be A positive… but I don't know how the spider-bite would've affected that."

"Clint you'd better hurry up. I need you to do a blood transfusion." Bruce was helpless. There wasn't much he could do while stranded on the battlefield.

"I'm right above you, Banner. Hold your horses." The quinjet was hovering above the trio, and Clint was rapidly opening the back. He hopped out before it was fully open, rolling as he hit the ground.

"Okay, Peter, I'm going to have you grab Tony's ankles, but make sure they stay below his head. On the count of three, I'll take his wrist. Clint, grab his shoulders." They both nodded. "OK. One, two, three, go!" Peter hopped away as Bruce gripped Tony's wrist. They lifted him up and moved quickly to the ramp. "Peter, do you know how to fly the jet?"

Peter stared at him, white with shock. "No?" He squeaked. Clint jumped in.

"Throttle forward to speed up, left and right, press the button to ascend, scream for help when we need to descend. FRIDAY will help you. Go!" They had reached the medbay, laying Tony down on a cot. Peter sprinted for the cockpit as Clint gathered up the materials need for a blood transfer, dragging a stool over to Tony's bedside.

"You're gonna have to do it yourself, I can't let go." Bruce told him.

"Fine. I know how. I always get signed up for this." Clint joked in a clipped tone. "Yay for the universal blood type." Clint's hands were steady as he worked smoothly. It was clear he had done this many times. Within moments, he and Tony were hooked up to the line, Clint's arm crossed over his chest, opening and closing his fist to get the blood flowing faster.

"I'm gonna be leached dry one of these days." He said. Bruce laughed shortly.

"I need you to pass me that kit next to you." Clint did as asked. Bruce cautiously let go of Tony's arm. The blood flow had stopped thanks to the tourniquet.

"Crap." Clint whispered. Bruce nodded, briskly washing his hands and snapping on gloves. He fished some items out of the kit, blocking Clint's view as he worked on Tony. Clint kept checking his watch.

"We're almost to the Tower Bruce."

"Okay. That should be enough blood for now. Go help Peter land then come straight back." Clint did as asked, not bothering to put a bandaid over his arm. Bruce would just need him to re-stab himself.

Five minutes later, they had Tony in a cot in the Tower. Peter was sitting in a cot nearby, knees pulled up to his chest when he wasn't hopping around grabbing things for Bruce. Clint was back in the stool, donating more blood. Bruce had clamped the artery in the jet and was suturing Tony's arm back together. Once the artery was back together, he pulled together the muscle and added another two layers of stitches to close the tissue and skin back together.

He worked briskly, encouraged by Clint's consistent reminders that the tourniquet was still tied. Bruce finished the last stitch steadily, quickly turning to the tourniquet to untie it.

Clint was starting to feel light-headed. "Hey Peter, go grab me some orange juice. Maybe skittles if you can find them." Peter nodded, jumping up. Bruce glanced at Clint sharply.

"I need you to give as much as you can, but I don't need you passing out on me." Clint rolled his shoulders.

"I'm fine. Just keeping the blood sugar up."

Eventually, though, Bruce made him take out the needle. Clint tried to wave him off, but almost fell out of his chair.

"No. You're done. Go get some water and then lay down. Do you need me to look at anything?"

Clint shrugged. "Nah, I was out of the way for most of it. Go check on the kid. He doesn't look so great."

Bruce turned around. Sure enough, Peter was perched on a bed, covered in blood and looking straight through him. He sighed as he made his way over. The kid was too young.

"Peter are you okay?" He paused a few feet away. The kid didn't respond. "Peter?"

**A/N - So sorry about the cliff hanger guys! I promise that you'll see where it's heading tomorrow! Also, I know it was really short, but I'm on a time crunch and really need to start my research paper and do a crap ton of other stuff. Please review and let me know which chapter is your favorite so far! I could use some inspiration!**


	5. Chapter 5

Peter - tearstained

"Peter?"

Peter was vaguely aware of someone calling his name, but he couldn't be bothered to answer.

He was also aware of the fact that he was crying. He should probably be embarrassed, but couldn't bring himself to care.

The battle had been pretty stressful. Kind of cool, but stressful. He'd actually been enjoying fighting side-by-side with the Avengers — that is, until Mr. Stark had collapsed.

There had been so much blood. Peter glanced down at his arms. They were covered in Mr. Stark's blood. His vision blurred as more tears fell.

It reminded him so much of when Ben had died.

Peter had run to him too late, catching his uncle's body in his arms. Ben's blood had been pooling beneath his body just like Mr. Stark's. Peter hadn't let go, just held Ben as the life left his body. When help had finally arrived, Peter's arms had been covered in blood. Just like right now.

He had been useless to Ben. He hadn't been able to save him. And just now, when he had caught Mr. Stark, he had begun to feel hopeful. He was able to save the people who were important to him. Just as the thought had crossed his mind, Mr. Stark had collapsed.

Peter felt useless now too. He hadn't thought to tie a tourniquet, or even to make sure he was putting pressure on the right spot on the wound.

"Peter!" Someone's hand grabbed his shoulder. Peter jumped, staring up at Bruce. "Peter, can you hear me?" He nodded, looking away. Bruce's voice softened. "Why don't you get out of the suit, OK? Get cleaned up some?" Peter nodded mechanically, standing up. He swayed, nearly falling until Bruce grabbed him. "Okay bud, let me help you." Peter sniffed. People were always helping him, never the other way around. He shook Bruce off.

"No. I'm okay." He walked slowly out of the medbay, meandering towards his room in the tower. The room that Mr. Stark had prepared for him.

Peter climbed into the shower, not even taking off the suit. He wanted to get the blood off his hands.

'_Like water's gonna take care of that.' _He thought darkly. '_One shower isn't going to take their blood off your hands.'_

He stood under the stream of water, head tilted back to let it run over his face. He had left his mask somewhere on the battlefield. He was dimly aware of the water heating up. It was too hot to be comfortable, but Peter couldn't move.

Eventually, he stripped off the suit, turning his back to the stream. It was burning now, but Peter didn't turn it down. If he focused on the pain, thoughts of Ben and Tony were less likely to creep in.

He stayed under the water until it ran clear, then stuck his head under the stream, scrubbing at his hair.

Eventually, he turned off the shower and headed back into his room to get dressed and collapse on the bed. Water was still running down his face, and he buried his head into his pillow, sobbing.

He couldn't stop seeing Ben's body falling, or Tony collapsing into a pool of blood. He watched as their bodies grew still, the bloodstream growing weaker.

It seemed as though a great length of time passed. Peter was still laying face down on the bed, not really moving, when Bruce grabbed his shoulder.

Peter started, nearly throwing Bruce across the room.

"Woah! Easy there." Bruce started to chuckle. Then he got a good look at Peter's tear stained face. He stammered as Peter looked away. "Tony's awake. He's — he's asking to see you." Peter's heart lurched with hope. Mr. Stark was alive! He sprung out of bed, following Bruce down the hall. He was about halfway there when the nasty voice in his head started up again. '_He's only alive thanks to Bruce. He probably only wants to see you in order to tell you that you're worthless, that you have to do better. He's going to see that you're useless. You're going to lose him.' _Peter's steps slowed as they arrived at the infirmary doors. He stared at them for a long while before Bruce laid a hand on him.

"Hey, Peter? He's alive. He wants to talk to you." Bruce reminded him. '_Better get it over with'_ Peter nodded, following the doctor into the room.

Tony was sitting up in a white cot. His arm was completely covered in bandages and he looked out of place on the clean white sheets. His face and clothes were still streaked with blood and dust.

"Hey Pete." Tony said, smiling. "How're you doing? Enjoying the hero life?" Peter's eyes welled up and he looked away.

"Su-sure."

"You okay kid?" Peter nodded.

"M-hm. Just tire."

Tony frowned. "Okay kid, go ahead and go sleep or whatever. I just wanted to say thanks. Besides getting me down from the building, Bruce was telling me about how you basically saved my life."

Peter could feel his control slipping as tears started to leak out.

"I didn't help at all!" He burst out. Tony looked startled.

"What do you mean?"

"It's my fault!" Peter sobbed. "I-I dropped you! And then I couldn't- I didn't - I couldn't find your artery! And-and if y-you had died — it would've been my fault!' Peter collapsed on a nearby cot, shaking. When Tony spoke, his voice was stern.

"Peter, listen to me. None of this was your fault. You didn''t make those creepy dudes attack, you didn't make me Ironman, you didn't make me fight, you weren't the one to shoot me and throw me into a building. No. You were the one who caught me. You got me to the ground. You were the one fighting your ass off to protect all those civilians. You were the one who stayed with me and called for help. You helped stop the building. You flew a damned jet and got us all back safely. Things like this happen Pete, and you aren't going to be able to stop them. That's something you've got to accept." There was a pause. "Okay pretend I'm like walking over there and putting my hand on your shoulder while staring into your eyes."

Peter chuckled, wiping his eyes. He wasn't sure how much of Mr. Stark's speech he really believed, but it was a relief to know he didn't hate him.

"Thanks Mr. Stark." He whispered. He couldn't help himself — he was wondering whether Ben would agree with Stark or not.

"Sure thing kid. Now come here, don't just sit there awkwardly." Tony gestured impatiently as Peter hopped up. When he reached Mr. Stark, the man pulled him into a one-armed hug.

"I mean it, Peter. Thank you." Peter grinned.  
"Are we there?" Tony laughed.

"For a genius kid, you can be pretty dumb, Parker."

**A/N Ahhhh! I'm so sorry for dropping a cliff hanger and then vanishing! Yesterday and today wrecked me. I'm really hoping to catch up tomorrow and Sunday, but we'll see how that goes... I know it's really short but I couldn't really get anywhere with this one for some reason and I just needed to post ****_something_****. Please review and let me know your thoughts.**

**Also I was re-reading my other chapters and I want to die at how many grammar is. I will be editing posts if I have time. Thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

Sam - human shield.

"Okay! Everyone out!"

People were still screaming and cowering as the building shook. Sam sighed.

"This building is coming down! I highly recommend getting the fuck out of here!"

Sam and Bucky were on their first mission together. They were tracking down some mutant who was suspected to be implicit in the murder of several high-level SHIELD agents. It had been hilarious when Nick Fury had approached them to ask for their help. Those snobbish people having to get help from the Avengers. Sam had laughed initially, before telling Cap that he wouldn't mind taking the mission. Steve was initially going to come with them, but he had to ditch last minute. Bucky had been optimisitic about the mission up until Steve had left. Sam was worried about him, but they hadn't had time to talk about it, since a bomb had gone off in a skyscraper. Typical.

Speaking of Bucky, Sam had lost sight of him. He went to jump out a window to fly around and look for him when the building started to slide.

Sam stumbled, crasing to the ground as a man fell into him. They had to get everyone out before the building crumpled all the way. He rolled away, standing up.

"BARNES!" He yelled, extending his wings and jumping into the air.  
"Sam!" There he was. Bucky was sprinting up the stairs. Sam flew over.  
"Do you have any ideas?" He yelled. Bucky looked grim as he shook his head. Sam groaned. Smoke was starting to swirl around the building.

"Um, Mr. Falcon sir? Mr. Winter Solider?" A hesitant voice said. Sam swivled, jaw dropping. Spider-man was crouched on the floor next to them. He was in civilian clothes except for his mask. "Do you need help?"

Sam grinned. "Damn right! Can you use your webs to stabilize the building?" Peter nodded.

"If I can get out there. But I don't know if I can swing around while the building is falling down."

"Sam can fly you around. I'll work on tracking down the target." Bucky said. "Catch up if you can." He turned, sprinting away. Sam dragged Peter to a nearby window, breaking it with one of his wings.

"Sorry kid!" He yelled, throwing Peter out the window. He immediately dove out, catching Peter (who was screaming) under the arms.

The pair flew around the ruined building. It was on fire now as well, and slowly collapsing. Peter shot webs, encircling the building. Sam swung him around, straining, as Peter fastened the webs onto the neighboring buildings.

"I'm okay now! I can manage from here! Go get the bad guy!" Peter yelled. Sam dropped him on the roof of a building, saluting as he dove away.

"Thanks kid!"

Sam dove lower, scanning for Bucky.

He was only about a mile away, rapidly closing in on their target. Sam grinn ed, angling downward as he sped towards the pair. Wind whistled by his face as he plummeted.

Sam snapped out his wings just before he hit the ground, tackling the man to the ground.

He yelled in surprise as the two rolled. They skidded across the ground, Sam's wings protecting him from road burn. He used his momentum to fling the man into a nearby wall, rolling to his feet. The man groaned, slowly pushing himself up. Sam planted a boot between his shoulders, forcing him back down.

"Stay down." He snarled. "Know when you're beaten." He paused. "What sort of sick bastard blows up a building full of innocents? It-" Sam was cut off as an arm wrapped around his neck, yanking him off of the target. Sam choked, trying throw off his attack. He froze as he felt the muzzle of a gun press into his temple. The man on the ground grinned as he sat up.

"You know when _you're _beaten." He and the man who had Sam immobilized both laughed. He gritted his teeth.

"Bastards." The man shrugged. He still hadn't stood up.

"Come on Paul, we need to move." Said the man behind Sam. Paul's face contorted.

"Yeah Bud, but Birdie here just threw me into a wall. I don't think we're gonna outrun the Winter Solider while I have broken ribs."

"Damn right you're not." A voice said. Sam's vision whited out as the grip tightened and he was swung around. Bucky was standing there, gun pointed right at Sam. Sam grinned.

"You're… screwed." He wheezed. The grip tightened and suddenly Sam couldn't breathe.

"Let him go." Bucky said calmly, voice made of steel. Paul snorted.

"Yeah right. And you'll just let us walk away?" Bud laughed from his spot on the ground. Bucky's face darkened, his tone remained level.

"I'll give you a minute headstart." Sam was getting dizzy. The man started to drag him backward, and Sam lifted his hands to try and releave the pressure on his throat. "Stop moving." Sam was clawing weakly at the arm, slumped against the man.

"Stop moving!" Panic broke into Bucky's voice. "Sam!"

Sam used his wings to beat against Paul's side, but was forced to stop almost immediately as he heard something click.

"Don't move."

"Let him go!"

The two men were at a stalemate, staring each other down. Sam faintly heard Bucky say something, but couldn't make out the specifics.

Sam choked, head pounding. He heard raised voices as the world spun and went dark.

Bucky was panicking. This was his first mission without Steve and he was already screwing it up.  
"Sam?" He was unresponsive and limp against the man with the gun, who was still moving away, gun pressed against his lolling head. "I said stop moving!" The man grinned.

"Or what?" Bucky turned his gun to the man on the ground. He hadn't known that there was someone working with their initial target, and he didn't welcome the surprise.  
"I'll shoot your friend. Unlike some of my partners, I have no qualms about killing."

"Go ahead. I'll shoot yours."

Bucky snarled. "How are you going to get away with him? We won't be by ourselves forever."

The man frowned. "Then I'll just have to hope that my men arrive before yours."  
Bucky froze. He had been bluffing. He hadn't called any of the Avengers for back up. It was entirely possible that the man was also bluffing — but what if he wasn't?

Sam was still unconscious. If Bucky didn't do something soon, there was a real possibility that Sam could die.

He couldn't die. He just couldn't.

Bucky eyed the small gap between Sam's shoulder and the man.

Sam was one of the few people who hadn't acted stiff or afraid around Bucky.

When his head had rolled to the side, it had left a reasonable target for Bucky to aim at.

If Sam died, it would be Bucky's fault. Another death on his hands.

The man was still walking away slowly. He had to act soon.

He couldn't fail this mission — not now that he was finally entrusted to act without Steve.

Bucky's hand was shaking. If he missed, he could very easily kill Sam.

Or if he hit, the target might reflexively tighten his grip and shoot Sam.

Then he would be on his own again.

But.

He couldn't wait any longer.

Time seemed to slow. Bucky swung his arm up, aiming precisely at the man's wrist, intending to displace the gun. He fired and immediately aimed at the small bit of the man's head he could see. He breathed out, pulling the trigger. His arm jerked back a little, eyes tracking the bullet as it flew from the gun and whistled past Sam's head.

His first bullet hit, and the man's hand jerked. His gun fired. Bucky's second bullet hit a split second after, sinking into the man's shoulder.

He and Sam crumpled to the floor, blood pooling beneath them. Bucky was frozen for a moment.

'_Who's blood is it?' _The man on the floor yelled in surprise, and Bucky instinctively went to shoot him as well. He flicked his wrist at the last moment so that the bullet only landed in the target's leg.

Sam still wasn't moving. Bucky lunged forward, dropping to his knees. Warm blood seeped into his pants, and as he reached forward he noticed his hands were shaking.

Hesitantly, Bucky pulled Sam up, checking him over to see if there were any fatal wounds.

Relief washed over him.

'_Thank God there's nothing in the head.'_ He thought. The bullet from the man's gun had gone down, piercing Sam's foot. Bucky checked for a pulse, holding his breath.

It was there, but barely. Bucky had to get Sam medical help.

Police sirens were getting closer. Bucky stood up, deciding to leave the criminals to the cops. Stark or Steve could give a statement to them later, sort everything out.

Meanwhile, Bucky had to make sure his friend was okay.


	7. Chapter 7

Loki — scars

**A/N OK, I know I haven't been giving a time-frame for these stories, but most of them are taking place after the first Avengers movie in the AU that the Avengers all moved into Avengers tower and ran missions together. And the first one, obviously, took place during Thor: The Dark World when Loki was in his cell. This one is going to be a bit different. It's going to take place during Infinity War right after Thanos attacks the Asgardian ship. I'm diverging from canon when Heimdall sends Hulk to Earth — I'm having him send Hulk, Thor, and Loki. So all three of them are on earth and Thanos doesn't have the space stone. I'm also slowing things down, so after they fight off the black order in New York, they are all still on Earth and start regrouping the team. **

**This one is going to be a bit darker, with vague references to torture!**

Loki spun to face Ebony Maw, his throwing knives knocked asided by the Maw's shield.

"Why do you still resist? Thanos would welcome you back." Loki snarled, drawing his short swords.

"Well you are not welcome here. Thanos' time is short, the ages will forget his name." Ebony Maw started to advance.

"Well they will not remember yours."

Loki lunged, trying to break his magical shield. It cracked, but Maw threw Loki to the side. Loki rolled, trying to stand up but the ground was moving to swallow his ankles. Loki quickly weaved an illusion, appearing to Maw as though he was indeed stuck to the ground while he quickly breaking Maw's spell and sneaking behind him.

Ebony Maw crushed Loki's illusion and turned to look for him. Loki was struggling to keep up his concealment spell. Every part of him was screaming to run away, snippets of memories begging him to cower. Loki growled at himself. He shook back the memories and jumped on Ebony Maw's back, stabbing with his knives.  
Maw grunted, sinking to the ground as Loki dug in.

"Why do you resist? Death would welcome you." Loki snarled mockingly in his ear. Maw whispered something, jerking his hand, and something wrapped around Loki's waist and threw him across the street.

Loki crashed into some cement steps, groaning as he tried to regain his feet. Ebony Maw was levitating up, casting some spell. Loki quickly flicked his wrist and created several versions of himself. He drew another knife from his pocket dimension and threw it at the Maw as he ran away.

'_Coward.' _He hissed at himself. He forced himself to stop and turn. The Maw was flying after him, ignoring the other illusions. Loki cursed, dropping the spell. He ran forward three steps before jumping and springing up off of a wall.

He tackled Maw out of the air, plunging another knife into his side. Maw twisted away and a great force slammed Loki into the ground. He rolled away, but was to slow to avoid being impaled by the spikes. Loki gasped as the jagged stone sank into his stomach. He scrambled back, panicking as the ground opened up to swallow him.

Loki grabbed onto the side of the gaping chasm, desperately trying not to fall. He swung himself up and out, tripping as the ground turned soft. He fell down, grabbing at the massive wound in his abdomen.

Thunder rumbled and the sky turned dark. Maw was distracted momentarily, allowing Loki to vanish once more. He couldn't bring himself to move from where he knelt.

Lightning struck the ground inches from where Ebony Maw had been. Thor dropped out of the sky, pounding him with lightning crackling from his fists. Maw was thrown backward. Thor started to advance on him, and he simply dropped into a portal and vanished.

The lightning faded and the dark storm clouds started to dissipate. Thor turned in a complete circle.

"Loki?" He called. Loki sighed, letting his spell drop.

"Thor." Thor grinned as he heard Loki's voice, but his face fell as he saw all the blood.  
"Loki!" He ran to his brother, but Loki cringed back.

"I'll live." He assured. Thor scowled.

"Brother, you must let someone look at your wound. The Avengers-" Loki cut him off.

"I need no help from the _Avengers_." He spat. "And why would they want to help me?" Thor shook his head, standing up.

"Come with me, Loki. At least meet them properly." Loki scowled, not moving. Thor rolled his eyes, stooping to grab Loki and help him stand. Loki leaned heavily on Thor, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

The pair stumbed for a few blocks until Thor turned the building that they had just crashed into. Loki scowled, hesitating. Thor glanced at him questioningly.

"I refuse to ask this… 'sorceror' for help."  
"Is it because of that one time we came to Earth and he trapped you in a portal?" Thor questioned. Loki frowned at him.

"Just give me one moment to conceal the injury." He said, already working the spell. It only drained his energy and made him feel worse.

"At least let Dr. Banner look at it. He can help you." Thor pleaded. Loki ignored him, standing up by himself. The two hobbled into the building.

Stark and Strange were standing in the entrance hall, the child who had appeared in the middle of the fight was between them. Banner was there as well — as a person, not the Hulk. Loki paused, glancing around to find a place that he could isolate himself in. He was shaking, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to stay on his feet for much longer. Everyone turned to look as the door opened, and all conversation screeched to a stop. Stark stepped in front of the kid, Strange's hands twitched at his sides, and Banner backed up several steps. Thor stepped forward, voice booming.

"We showed that bastard. I hope he runs back to Thanos and tells him that Earth will not easily give up our infinity stones."

"I doubt Thanos will be as easily dissauded as his pets are." Loki said dryly. He stumbled forward, desperate to get away from this awkward crowd. They couldn't see it, but blood was running down his leg. Banner paled as Loki came forward.

"Stop moving." Strange said, hands up and ready to cast a spell. Loki snarled, but stilled.  
"What is he doing here?" Stark asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"Um, guys?-" The kid started.

"Hang on kid."

"I promise, he's not here to attack Earth again." Thor said, holding out placating hands.

"Then why is he here?"  
"How can we be sure?"

Loki had to cut in. "I didn't come here by choice. Believe me, I know I'm not welcome. But Thor is right, I am not going to harm anyone. I'm here because Heimdall sent me here with Thor and Banner — I want to stop Thanos as much as anyone here." He was sweating and trembling with the effort of staying on his feet and mantaining the spell.

"Yeah, well, forgive us if we don't immediatly believe you." Stark spat. The kid stepped around him.

"Guys? There's like, a lot of blood on the floor." He said, pointing at Loki's feet. Everyone glanced down and, sure enough, Loki was bleeding all over the gleaming, polished floor.

"What the…"  
"Who's blood is that?"  
"He looks fine!" Loki stumbled away, but only succeeded in tracking the blood even further.

"Shit, it is him."

"Brother, please, drop your spell." Thor pleaded. He turned to Banner. "Loki was hit while battling Ebony Maw. Can you help him, Dr. Banner?" Loki didn't hear the man's reply. Everything got really quiet and cold, and Loki collapsed to the floor.

Loki became aware of someone's arms wrapped around him. He was being carried, but before he could react, he was laid down on something soft. Someone was pressing down on the stab wound, and there was the sound of heated argument. Loki cast the smallest illusion so that he would appear to still be unconscious, and then he opened his eyes to look around. Thor was standing by his head, arms crossed over his chest. Strange was pressing a wad of gauze into his wound, and the other three were by the foot of his bed. They were all arguing heatedly.

"Why should we help him?"  
"Even if he is your brother, Thor, he's done nothing to prove to us that he's trustworthy."

"What has he been up to all this time?"  
"You said he was in prison?"

"We can't let him die!" That was Strange. Odd.

"But we don't even know if his antomy is the same —" That was Bruce. He was pretty spot on.

"Doesn't mean we have to help —"

"If you refuse to save my brother's life, I will refuse to help save your world."

There was a heavy pause.

"I didn't mean it like that… But you'd better stay glued to his side." Tony turned, grabbing the kid and heading out of the room.

"Where are you going?" Asked Banner.

"To take some precautions." Tony called over his shoulder. "Come on Peter, I'm not leaving you here."

"Dr. Banner, do you have any medicinal history?" Strange asked.

"Um, some. I'm no surgeon." Strange shrugged.  
"Good enough. Thor, go over to that cabinent and grab gauze, tape, sutures, disinfectant, pads, and water."

Thor nodded. "Thank you, Dr. Strange. I know we promised that we wouldn't return to Earth, and I am grateful for your help." Thor swiftly moved to the cabinent, grabbing armfuls of things.

Strange smiled ruefully. "Hippocratic oath."

Banner laughed. "You know, technically, he's not human so that may not even apply."

"Besides the point. He's a living, breathing, sentient humanoid."

"I suppose so."

Thor returned, depositing the material on a table. Strange grabbed the bottle of water, whispering unintelligible words until it was boiling.  
"I'm going to have to clean the wound so we can start stitching it up. He will also need a blood transfer, since he passed out from lack of blood. Do you two have the same blood type?" Thor paused.  
"I don't believe so." He said delicately. Strange nodded.  
"Fine. What is his blood type?" Banner interrupted.

"Can you Asgardians even take blood donations from humans?" Thor hesitated.

"I don't know. This is my brother's area of expertise, not mine."

"Okay. We need to get his armor and shirt off so I can get a good look at the wound. We need to mantain constant pressure to the trauma cite, however, so you're going to need to help."

Loki tensed as scissors were extended towards him. He dropped his illusion, raising his hands up.

"No." He said, gritting his teeth. Everyone jumped at his sudden movement. Thor recovered quickly.  
"Brother! Were you listening all this time?"

"We really do need to hurry this along. You're still losing blood." Strange told him. Loki grabbed the scissors.  
"You only need to cut directly around the wound." He snarled. "And no, my body will not accept mortal blood." He tried to lean forward, but stopped with a hiss of pain.  
"Scissors won't cut through the armor." Thor pointed out. Loki was getting dizzy again.

"I don't want your help." He snapped. He didn't want them to see the scars. He couldn't deal with the questions. Or the pity. Or the accusations. The "you deserved it" the "why didn't you stop them?". He couldn't bear to have Thor think even less of him, or for that to be his first impression on the Avengers. Well, first impression since he was under Thanos' control.

"Thor, I'm going to have to immobilize him if you want us to stop the bleeding."

"I'm sorry, brother. I can't let you die for sake of your pride." Loki was panicking. The memories were already starting to surface. He found that he couldn't move. Strange had pressed some spell onto him to make him lie still. He lashed out with his own magic, but the effort was too much. Everything went dark as Loki blacked out again.

"Shit."

"Thor… Do you know what this is?"

"I… I have no idea…"

Burning hot water splashed onto Loki's side. He flinched, trying to jerk upright, but Strange's spell was still in place. He opened his eyes. They had removed his armor and tunic and were working on stitching up his side.

All the scars on his torso were fully exposed, and he could tell they hadn't exactly gone unnoticed.

At least he was lying on his back. That was where the majority of the scars were. There was silence as Banner finished up the stitches. Loki was vaguely curious as to why Strange wasn't stitching since Banner had mentioned that Strange was a surgeon, but he was to overcome by panic to really concentrate. He swiftly wove some small spells to conceal all the scars on his back, and subtly soften the ones on his chest.

Even the small spells sapped his strength dramatically.

"Shit! The bloodflow is picking up."

Loki never got cold. Since he was a Frost Giant, he could handle subzero temperatures. Now however, he was freezing. He tied the spells in place, and the final effort drained the rest of his strength.

When he came to again, a blanket was pulled up to his chin. Thor was standing a few meters from the foot of the bed, whispering to Strange, Banner, and Stark. He caught a few words. 'Chitauri… Thanos… mind control… invasion…"

Loki took a shuddering breath. He had to get himself under control. He pushed himself upright, glancing at his side.

It was bandaged up so that he couldn't see the wound itself, but the skin around it was red. So either infection or burns from the hot water. Loki was particularly susceptible to burns — the object didn't even need to be that hot to leave him with a sizable injury.

The group turned to look at him. Loki instinctively pulled the blanket up. There was an awkward silence, then Thor glanced at his friends and walked over to the chair by Loki. The others walked just out of earshot. Thor was opening his mouth to say something when Loki interupted him.

"I suppose you want me to thank Banner." He said.

"No. Well, if you want to. But that's not what I was going to say."

"Well spit it out then."

Thor cleared his throat, looking sad. "Loki… when Banner was putting the stitches in —" Loki cut him off again.

"I was wondering about that. Why didn't Strange do it? Isn't he the surgeon?" Thor shrugged. It clearly wasn't important to him.

"Loki, we saw the scars." Thor said simply, before Loki could put him off again. Loki stiffened, studying Thor's eye. Sure enough, there was pity in it. Also sadness, anger, and confusion. Loki didn't say anything, just wrapped the blanket around him more firmly.

"What happened?" Loki took a steadying breath. Rage was already rising up.

"What do you _think_ happened?" He hissed. "What did you think happened when I first came to New York? Did you really think that was what I would do?" He closed his eyes, swallowing hard.

"What was I supposed to think, Loki? I asked you what was wrong, I told you you'd be welcome back home. I offered to help. Why did you never tell me you needed help?" Thor paused. "Brother, please. Just tell me what happened." Loki bit his tongue. There was no avoiding the question this time, not now that everyone had seen the scars. He let the blanket drop, and Thor flinched at the sight.

Loki's chest was absolutely cover in scars. Some of them were small and white, but most were huge, raised, purple things. There was a dent in his ribcage where the bone had never healed right. The scars stretched from his collarbone all the way past the waist of his pants. Every inch was covered, his whole torso malformed. Loki was breathing heavy as he stared at himself. So many memories were surfacing. He tried frantically to tap down the images of knives and swords and needles. Rods, clubs, whips, burning irons.

The worst was right in the middle of his chest. A huge burn mark in the shape of a perfectly balanced scale inscribed with a T. The mark of Thanos.

"When I fell off the bifrost bridge, I thought I would die. I was terrified, but death would have been so much better than what actually happened." Loki whispered, unable to meet Thor's eye. "The Chitauri found me, halfdead, and captured me. They weren't exactly nice jailers. Then they deleivered me to Thanos. He tried to persaude me to his side. He was nice at first, simply talking to me about life in the universe. About the problems we faced and the threat of extinction. But you know me, Thor," Loki laughed, "I always find trouble. I refused to do certain things for him. Menial tasks, anything that required me giving him information on Asgard. When I refused to do what he wanted, I was taken to a cell. Someone would come everyday. They'd either ask me a question or give me a command. Sometimes neither. If I didn't comply, that's when they would… punish me." Loki stopped to take a deep breath. "At first, I was too stubborn I would fight back. Their methods only made me rebel more. But eventually, brother, I broke. I didn't have the strength to fight back. I still refused to comply, but I just sat there, ignoring them until they brought out their tools. I was trying to die. Trying to convince them I was useless to them so they would just end my life. Eventually, however, Thanos started to visit me. He would bring this stone with him. With the stone, he could get inside my head, see every memory and thought. He preyed on me from the inside, manipulating my thoughts and desires. I was gradually warped to his will." Loki had to stop, he dropped his head into his hands, trying to regain control of himself. He lowered his voice even more.

"I remember this one day, I was just laying on the floor on my back. Thanos came in and sat down nearby. He didn't say anything for the longest time. I wasn't even waiting in suspense. I knew exactly what would come. Eventually, he pulled out this gleaming stone and just stared at it. This one memory from when we were children just played over and over in my head. It was when we had started weapons class. We had just gotten our first swords and were starting to spar. I can still remember how you accidentally cut me.

"Now, of course, I remember how much you apologized. But then, I seemed to forget that part. It would somehow tie into the part when Father praised your aptitude for fighting. Thanos warped the memory so much, that I could only hear Father telling me what a disappointment I was. How useless, worthless, I was. All about how he should have left me in Jotunheim to freeze to death. Even the Frost Giants didn't want me.

"Eventually I came to want power. I wanted to prove myself. I was also broken enough to just do whatever Thanos wanted. At first it was little tasks, but then he told me to take Midgard… he brought the stone out again and made me look at it. I don't know how, but I agreed to his plan and left that day. The longer I spent away from him, the clearer my head got. But I still had to check in

"By the time you got to me, I was too scared to go against Thanos. I knew he would destroy us. He had stolen Asgardian intelligence from my mind and had threatened to destroy Asgard. I had some vestiges of a plan, Thor, and that's why your Avengers overpowered me at the tower.

"Of course, if Thanos could have gotten his hands on me after that defeat, well…" Loki trailed off, trying not to imagine the alternative. "I wanted to go back to Asgard, and I knew I would be safe in the prison. It would have to be the prison, or Thanos would know that I had escaped him. So after Frigga died, and you broke me out of jail, I faked my own death and returned to Asgard. Thanos couldn't get to me if he thought I was dead…" Loki trailed off. "I suppose that's about it. In short, the Chitauri and Thanos tortured me until I was nothing but a tool for them to use. What must you think of me now?" Thor stared at him, sorrow and anger battling in his gaze.

"I will kill him, brother. I swear I will." He snarled. "I am so sorry you had to go through that." Loki bristled.

"I don't want your pity." Thor pulled him into a hug.  
"Nonetheless, you are my brother and you have my sympathies. I will take revenge. I refuse to let anyone torture my family and escape unscathed. And, by the way, I don't think any less of you. In fact, I can only admire your courage and be relieved that you didn't actually want to kill me." For once, Loki didn't fight the embrace. He gripped Thor, shaking.

"Thank you, brother. And I will be fighting with you. Side by side."

**A/N Thanks for reading! Sorry if this is over done, haha. I know there are several mistakes in here, but I'm writing and posting this at 1am, so please forgive me. Also, this is similar to the plot in my other story, 'Falling', so if you liked my take on this, please check it out. **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N This one is going to be sometime after Spider-Man: Homecoming, but before Infinity War. **

Tony- Delirium

"Tony. Tony, you need to go to sleep." Pepper placed a hand on his shoulder, tugging softly. She sounded exhausted, but it was nothing next to Tony.

"What? Oh yeah. Hm… in a bit. I just gotta finish this up." Tony had been up for… how long had it been? Um… Tuesday, Wednesday, a 30 minute nap on Thursday… It was Friday evening? Maybe. Probably.  
"It'll be there when you get up." Pepper pleaded. Tony nodded, not really listening.

"Yeah, but the kid needs it." Tony had been working non-stop on a new suit for Peter. The kid had gotten injured while patrolling on Tuesday night and had probably needed a trip to the hospital. Peter had talked him out of the hospital, so he was recovering in the Avengers Compound. Meanwhile, Tony was convinced that there had to be a better way to craft a suit. Something with proper armor, but still flexible enough for the kid's powers…

Once Tony got an idea in his head, he couldn't rest until he had perfected it. He didn't even notice as Pepper let the room.

Speaking of Peter, there was the spider-ling walking into the workshop. He was supposed to be confined to the infirmary, but with his special healing abilities, Peter kept sneaking out.

"Hey kid, how are you feeling?" Peter jumped, clearly he wasn't expecting anyone else to be in the shop.

"Um, alright I guess."

"You should be…" Tony trailed off, studying the blueprint on his table. It seemed to swim before his eyes.

"In bed? I mean, I haven't been out of bed in ages, so I just wanted to walk around a bit." Peter explained hurridely. Tony nodded.

"Good, good. Yeah that's fine." Peter stepped forward.  
"Are you okay, Mr. Stark? You sound kind of out of it."

Tony made a sweeping gesture, trying to push Peter's arm off of him.  
"I'm fine!" He said. He stumbled, nearly falling. "Get off."

Peter was alarmed. He was standing several feet back from Mr. Stark. Who was he talking too?

"Mr. Stark?" He asked. "Do you need me to go get help?"

Tony glared at Peter. He was saying something about getting help. "I've got it under control. Don't worry kid, I know how to make a suit. You'll be better in no time!" Peter frowned.

"I don't want your help." He snapped. "It's you fault that I got in this situation in the first place." Tony swayed, shocked at the harsh words. The kid never acted like this!

"I'm sorry, Peter. I'm trying to fix it."  
"Yeah right." He snorted.

"Mr. Stark?" Peter was panicking a bit now. Mr. Stark was completely delirious. He seemed to be having a full-on conversation with himself. "I think we should go find Ms. Potts."

"Jesus, Peter. I'm so sorry… I didn't mean to… I know, I know! I'm sorry! I tried!" Mr. Stark had fallen to his knees, tears sparkling in his eyes. "Pepper?"

Peter jumped. "Yeah, yeah let's get Pep-"

"Pepper, please no. God, Pepper. I'm so sorry. No! NO! Don't leave! Please don't leave me!" Peter crouched next to Mr. Stark, hesistantly shaking his shoulder.  
"I'm not going anywhere, Mr. Stark." He reassured his mentor. "Um… you do need help though. FRIDAY? Can you please ask Ms. Potts to come help Mr. Stark? I think he's delirious."

"Certainly, sir. She will be on her way momentarily."

Tony was shaking. Peter shook his shoulder again.

"Come on Mr. Stark. Please wake up."

"What are you doing here?" Mr. Stark hissed, glaring at Peter, who recoiled.

"I-I'm sorry. I just wanted to-"

"I'll never give you what you want." Stark boasted. Suddenly, he flinched, clutching his head and cowering against the table. He was whispering something unintelligble.  
Peter felt helpless. He had no idea how to help Mr. Stark. He crawled a little closer.

"Mr. Stark?" He would've hugged the man, but he didn't want to make him feel more uncomfortable than he already was. He was horrified by what he was seeing. "Mr. Stark, please. I'm right here for you."

Tony was back in that cave, sprawled on the floor. One of the guards was advancing on him, muttering something in a different language. He flinched, retreating as the guard drew a long knife. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice sounded right next to him.  
"Mr. Stark?" Peter? What was Peter doing here. Wait. Who was Peter? Why would he… Tony grunted as a boot made contact with his gut, all thought of people named Peter fleeing his mind.

Peter flinched as Mr. Stark grunted, curling in on himself in obvious pain. There wasn't much he could do but crawl up next to him, whispering reassurances.

And that was how Pepper found them. The pair curled up on the floor together, both of them fast asleep.

**A/N I know that was short, rushed, and weird. I myself am struggling with sleep deprivation right now, so I will try and do better tomorrow! I may continue with this idea, but no promises. Let me know who's POV you've enjoyed so far!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Natasha and Clint, Gunpoint**

"Jesus, Clint. What is up with you today?" Natasha had slipped past Clint's guard for the fourth time in a row, tackling him to the ground and pinning him with an unloaded gun to the back of his head. She got off of him, reaching out a hand to help him up. Clint groaned, rolling his shoulders.

"I don't know, Nat." He stooped to pick up his baton and gun. "I'm just tired, I guess." Natasha glared at him.  
"We spar on missions all the time. Missions where you stay awake for three or four days straight. You're not tired."

Clint shrugged. He turned, walking away a couple of steps. He stretched before facing Nat and taking a fighting stance. Nat remained upright. "Clint. Tell me what's wrong."

"It's nothing. Come on." He gestured with his baton. She sighed, dropping into a crouch. The two studied each other for a moment, swaying slightly.

Clint lunged first, aiming an overhead strike at her neck. She ducked and swayed under his lunge, her twirling baton coming up towards his ribs.

Clint's first strike had just been a feint. He slipped down, slide tackling Nat and sweeping her legs out. It was lucky, normally she wouldn't have fallen. But now she was tumbling, rolling over his head. He twisted, diving forward to grapple as she rolled into a crouch. She hopped nimbly to the side, smacking her baton down on his back. He kicked his legs around, twisting onto his back. Natasha fell over his legs, but rolled away and sprung back to her feet. Clint pushed himself to his feet as well, breathing heavily.

He was stronger than she was, if he could just get on top of her…

This time, Natasha struck first lunging foward to jab Clint in the ribs with her gun. He stepped forward, turning to dodge the gunpoint and trap her wrist in the crook of his elbow and against his side. With his hand he grabbed her shoulder, looking for the pressure point, as he swung his other arm up to lay the muzzle of his gun against her temple. He grinned at her, chest heaving.

"Gotcha." He crowed. Natasha rolled her eyes, she waved her gun in her face.

"I could've shot you in the ribs with this, birdbrain." She suddenly hopped, swinging beneath their tangled arms to lock her legs around his neck, twisting to fling them both to the ground. They both yelped as Clint's locked shoulder hit the floor, and as he pinched Nat's pressure point. She swiped at his head with her gun, but he swung up his own gun to block the blow. He hit it with enough force to send her gun flying away. He grabbed her ankle, turning to fall on top of her. She squirmed, locking her other knee around his neck, sitting up to wrap her baton acoss the front of his neck as well, ending up on his back holding him in a very effective chokehold.

"Get your head in the game." She whispered into his ear, hair sweeping across his eyes. She de-tangled herself from him, red hair in disarray as she helped him up. Clint grunted, unable to meet her questioning eyes.

She walked away to grab her gun. When she faced him again, Clint was already in a crouch, baton crossed in front of him defensively. She shook her head.

"No. We're done." Clint frowned.

"What do you mean? We've only been at it for an hour." They would normally spar for at least two hours, sometimes more. They were already covered in sweat, but that was to be expected.

"You're fighting horribly, Clint." She said bluntly. "You're clearly distracted. You're not helping yourself or me like this. You'll just regret the bruises tomorrow."  
Clint wasn't so sure about that. The pain, the exertion, even the frustration at constantly losing was a welcome distraction. Natasha beckoned him as she turned and left the small room they were using as a temporary gym.

The pair were in a small S.H.I.E.L.D hideout, and had been for a week. A mission had gone awry, and the two were supposed to wait for the backlash to blowover and for more information on their targets before leaving the temp base.

In Clint's eyes, it had all been his fault. He'd messed up one thing after the other. First, his hearing aids had gone out when some sort of blast had gone off. Consequently, he had been unaware when Nat had been forced out of position. Consequently, it had been his fault when she was injured and he had gotten himself stuck deep in the building, underground, with no backup. Because of this, the group had time to sound the alarm and regroup. Nat had been captured, and Clint had somehow escaped.

He, of course, had gone back for her. But at that point, the entire village was aware of their prescence and the main targets had gotten away. It was a miracle that the pair had managed to get out alive.

All because of his stupid hearing aids.  
In fact, Nat was still limping from her wound, so he should've had no problem over-powering her during their sparring sessions.

The trouble was, the mission had been personal to Clint. Somehow, his stupid brother had gotten himself tangled up with a high-profile group that S.H.I.E.L.D was tracking down. So of course, Clint couldn't believe that he had lost to his brother.

Words kept running through his head. Words like _stupid _and _worthless_. His brother's taunting face kept dancing in front of him.

The worst part of all was when Clint had actually _seen_ him. Before now, his brother was just a drunkard. A common criminal, addicted to gambling and bad money-making schemes. But when Clint had seen Barney standing over Natasha, gun pointed at her limp body, he realized just how far he had gone.

Clint had seen that and gone mad. It was miracle that he had manged to fight off the entire compound and get Natasha out, but in his rage it was nothing. Barney had escaped, along with a few others, but most of them hadn't been so lucky.

Clint saw red, but he _heard _it too. He could _feel_ his muscles twitching with desire to lash out, to take revenge.

To kill.

Natasha lead him through the short hallway into one of the only other rooms in the hide-out. She sat down in a chair at the only table and Clint collapsed on the one opposite. She leaned forward, hands clapsed under her chin, eyes seeking his.

"I'm pretty sure I know what's going through that thick head of yours, but I want to hear you say it. So spill. What's bothering you?"

Clint leaned back, kicking his feet up on the chair and staring at the ceiling. He cleared his throat.

"Well. gosh Tasha, it's not that hard to guess."

"But you need to say it. To hear how ridiculous you sound."

Clint snorted. "It's not ridiculous." He said. Clint winced, hearing how whiny he sounded. "It's not." He insisted despite Natasha's eyeroll. He took a deep breath. "I mean… It was my fault, Tasha. You getting shot, you getting captured, the mission being compromised, Barney getting away, Barney hurting _you_, everything going to shit." He sighed. "I screwed both of us over, because I wasn't prepared for seeing him, or for the aids going out. I acted pathetic. I let my weaknesses overwhelm us. And now we're stuck here, when we should be back at the main base." Clint finally meet Natasha's eyes. "I'm sorry Tasha."

Nat waited a couple heartbeats after he had finished, making sure he had got it all out.  
"Clint. Listen to me. You don't need to be sorry. Sure, the mission was hell, but we've faced worse together. Sure, you messed up a bit, but so did I. It was my responsibility to know that your hearing aids could've gone out I-"  
"It shouldn't be!" Clint burst out angrily. "It shouldn't be something you have to worry about or deal with!" Nat glared at him.

"We're partners, Clint. We watch each others six. We carry each others burdens. You watch out for my weak spots, I watch for yours. You acted incredibly. That small hitch could've killed both of us, but you recovered your cool and despite the odds, you got us both out." A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. "You had to carry me out Clint. Who was the weak link then?" She shook her head, suddenly frustrated. "That's not what I meant. We are _not_ going to be comparing who did the most or who got the worst owies. What I mean is that I owe you my life. Many times over. I'd rather have you as my teammate than anyone else. Irksome brother or not. Faulty hearing aids are only an added bonus." She stared at him, hard. "You need to stop blaming yourself. You are not Barney. You are not responsible for your brother. You've done everything you could and more. And I need you to get yourself back under control."

Clint hesitated for a long moment, replaying her speech in his head. He slowly nodded. "Fine. No more blaming."

Tasha's face broke into a beaming grin. A real one, not her mission smirks. "Thank you."

Clint shrugged. "But if we have to stay locked up much longer, I may kill myself." Natasha shrugged.

"Fair enough." She meet his eyes for a long moment, then the two broke out into laughter. Natasha was relieved. If Clint could really accept her words, he may be on the path to recovery after all.

She grinned as they laughed. Maybe the coming days wouldn't be so long after all.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N Hey guys! I'm so sorry I didn't post yesterday, I've got a big exam tomorrow and have been swamped with work. This one is set before the first Thor, so before Loki knows he is a Frost Giant.**

Loki - Humiliation

Well. This was actually humiliating.

Loki was tied up so completely that he couldn't even twitch a finger. Besides the chains they'd wrapped around him, there was some sort of magic immobilizing him as well.

He had been out quite a distance from the palace in order to practice some of his more… explosive spells. Perhaps he had strayed too far in his wandering and ended up trespassing.

But, _really_, there was no call for all of _this._

Loki had been experimenting with magic and had been about to head back home when the Jotun had surrounded him. He had completley spent his magic during his practice session and had been unable to put up a fight. He'd barely been able to draw his knives when they told him to surrender.

'_Don't be a coward.' _He had told himself. Loki had tried to run, but was quickly tackled and disarmed. Now, his hands were shackled behind his back, his ankles hobbled, and his mouth gagged. He was kneeling in the middle of a make-shift camp, the Jotuns arguing amongst themselves. Loki couldn't see them from where he was frozen, but from what he could make out, they weren't completely sure what to do with him.

"We should just kill him now!"  
"Look at his clothes, he's clearly from the palace. We could use him for leverage."  
"But there's something off, I can smell an enchantment on him."

Loki was curious. What enchantment? Was it possible that they were just smelling the magic in his blood? Or the remnants of his training session? More importantly, what did they need leverage for?

"Did you see the spells he was casting? Have you ever seen an Asgardian wield that brand of magic that adeptly?" There were murmurs of discomfort.

"Frigga." Snarled one of the giants. "She is the greatest spell-weaver they have."

"That is because Frigga is not Asgardian by blood." There was a long pause as this sunk in.

Loki heard footsteps, and a tall Jotun with tatoos all along his upper body, arms, and face stalked into his field of vision. He squatted in front of Loki, grinning.

"So. We've captured one of the prized princes of Asgard." He reached out to trace a finger along Loki's face. Loki did his best to glare, but couldn't show much resistance. The Jotun chuckled. "Well. It seems as though the Fates have smiled upon me, little prince. I'm not sure yet what'll we'll do with you, but I can think of plenty of possibilities."

Loki felt cold. If they gained any advantage because of his folly, he couldn't imagine how disappointed his family would be. He would never forgive himself if he incited war.

An angry growl echoed around the clearing. Loki felt cold steel pressed against his neck.

"If this is really Odin's son, I say we remove his head now. I say we take revenge!" There were a few howls of agreement. Loki was growing increasingly horrified as the weight of his situation sunk deeper and deeper. If they killed him, there was no doubt that Odin woul d declare war on the Frost Giants. If they didn't he would be used as leverage to either give the Jotuns some advantage or, if Odin refused to work with them, he could end up dead anyways and the realms embroiled with war. Even if Loki made it home alive, there was no telling if the Jotuns or Odin would attack anyways.

"No!" The pressure from the knife vanished. "You fool! We can achieve so much more if we keep him alive!"

"The Asgardians will never give us everything we need in exchange for one boy. I say we take him back home so everyone can see us slit his throat."

'_Well that sounds exciting.' _

"We can take him back, but only to meet with the king. If we kill him without the king's say so, we may not be alive long enough to enjoy our revenge." At that statement, most of the Jotuns went quiet, mumbling assent.

"Well, if we're taking him back we need to blindfold him." Someone suggested.

"How about I just rip his eyes out?" Snarled the Jotun who had wanted to kill him. Loki's breath hitched. "He doesn't need those." There was a long considerate pause. '_Nonononono.'_

"Better not. You may accidentally kill him. Or the king may get angry. Or we may not get as high a price for him." The giant growled. Just as Loki relaxed slightly, he felt someone slam into him. The spell broke, and he toppled to the ground. A knife slashed at his face, and Loki squirmed, jerking to the side. The blade caught from his cheek and sliced to the back of his ear. Loki panicked, thrashing as hard as he could. The Jotun placed a massive hand across Loki's windpipe and pushed, pinning him to the ground. Loki stared in horror as the grinning maniac lowered the knife towards his eyes. It was reaching for him, co-

The Jotun was tackled off of him, and Loki gasped for breath as the two giants wrestled in the dust a few meters away. The knife fell from the maniacal one's hand and the two pulled away from each other, glaring murderously.

"Leave him be. I'm sure you'll have your revenge soon enough." Loki really did not like the sound of that.

Loki was completely blindfolded. A thick blanket was wrapped all the way around his head, and he was barely able to breathe. They dragged him along at a tremendous rate - he kept tripping and falling. By the time they stopped, he was limping badly. His right leg was on fire, the pain radiating from his ankle from where he had twisted it, and reaching all the way to his hip. His hands remained behind his back as well, so when he fell there was nothing to break his fall except the ground. Loki was pretty sure his clothes were ruined, and he had many cuts and bruises along his chest and face. On one particularly bad fall, his shoulder had hit the ground at an awkward angle, and Loki had heard something crack.

All in all, he was in a pretty rough shape.

He could tell when he stepped through the portal. He felt the magic rush through him and was roughly shoved out the other side. He tripped, falling face first into snow. At least it was a softer landing than the rocks and twigs of the forest he had been in. Someone kicked him in the ribs. Loki bit his tongue to avoid crying out. He could taste blood.

"Get up." Someone else laughed as he didn't move and yanked him to his feet. Loki decided that the most humiliating part of his situation was the collar and chain they had put around his neck to guide him. Besides, between that and the gag, Loki was struggling for every breath. He heard thuds as the last few Frost Giants hopped through the portal. They were off again, dragging Loki through the snow. Even without the blindfold and chains, Loki doubted he would have been able to keep up with them, considering the comparable size difference.  
Whenever he fell, snow would become caked in his clothes, but for some reason it didn't bother Loki that much. The cold just felt soothing to his injuries.

At long last, the group stopped. Loki finally felt solid ground beneath his feet and assumed they must have stopped in a courtyard of sorts. Someone knocked on what he supposed to be the castle knocker, and Loki flinched at the sudden, loud noise.

"Are you ready to meet the King, little prince?" The leader Jotun whispered into his ear. Loki jumped at the sudden proximity before mastering himself and becoming statue-like. He heard a great grinding as little-used gates swung open. The ominous creaking of ill-oiled doors thundered forward and Loki began to shiver.

**A/N Tomorrows prompt will be Ransom and will be completing this story! Also, I know I'm writing a lot more about Loki then anyone else, so if you have a preference, feel free to let me know. Wish me luck on my exam!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N I know I said this would be Ransom, but I think Shackled works better, sorry for the late upload.**

Loki - Shackled

"_Are you ready to meet the King, little prince?" _

Loki didn't feel ready in the slightest, but he refused to let his fear show. The Frost Giants removed his blindfold before prodding him into the gaping chasm of a gate. There were no torches here, and the chambers were dark. The sky was overcast, otherwise Loki was sure the light would be blinding when reflecting off the ice and snow.

'_How primitive'._ He thought. '_No lighting?'_ The castle was freezing, but Loki didn't notice.

He was paraded into a large, empty chamber, and two of his guards disappeared past a smaller door. Loki assumed he was in the throne room, as the main feature of the chamber was the icey throne on the stage.

Several tense minutes passed as the Jotuns mumbled among themselves.

The dark chamber was suddenly flooded with light as the doors were flung open. Small orbs of bright white light danced around the room illuminating the newcomers.

The two Frost Giants had returned, along with a crowd of others. They became silent as the largest Jotun slowly climbed onto the throne. He turned to face the room and everyone kneeled, the Giant behind Loki kicking him in the knee to make him get down as well. The king sat and everyone stood upright again, murmuring breaking out again as all the Giants tried to get a look at Loki.

"Bring the prisoner forward." Laufey's voice was low, booming around the room. The guards dragged Loki across the hall, shoving him forward so that he stood before the throne. Loki wanted to say something rather then stand in silence, but he was still gagged. The Giant examined him and then, as if reading his mind, waved a hand at his mouth.

"Take out the gag." Immediately, the binding was ripped off. Loki coughed, then ran his tongue over his lips and swallowed dryly. He dipped his head at the king.

"King Laufey. It's an honor to meet you." He said, struggling to keep his voice even.

"I have been told that you are Frigga's son." Laufey said conversationally. Loki made no comment. "What were you doing so far from the palace?"

"I was practicing my magic. What were your people doing so far from Jotunheim?" Laufey smiled lightly.

"How important are you to the Asgardians, really?" Loki hesitated.

"I believe that is something you should ask them yourself." He replied. Loki rolled his shoulders, grimacing. "Perhaps we could continue this conversation in a smaller room? Without the chains? I pose no threat to you."

"That much is true. You could not fight your way out of here alive. But there is not much I need to know. Mainly, I want to know what enchantment is still wrapped around you." Loki shrugged.

"I don't know. Perhaps your people have left some spell on me." Laufey shook his head, leaning forward. His red eyes were piercing.

"It is no spell of our making. But if you don't wish to divulge that information, we have ways of finding out." Loki could feel his courage weakening.

"I have cast no spell on myself." He said. It was true, he really didn't know what the Jotun was talking about. Laufey's frigid gaze never strayed from his face. Loki thought he saw a flicker of confusion.  
"Alistro, remove all spells from our guest." A flame of fear flickered in Loki's stomach as a Frost Giant with deep blue tattoos stepped out of the crowd.

"With pleasure." He grinned sadistically. The Giant moved with a slight limp as he approached Loki. Alistro was small for a Frost Giant, but still towered over Loki.

Loki had stood his ground, but when Alistro drew a knife and reached for his face, Loki couldn't stop himself from stumbling back. Of course, with the chains it was massively ineffective and just caused him to trip and almost fall. '_Stupid. Don't show weakness.' _Alistro grinned at Loki's obvious fear as someone grabbed Loki's shoulders from behind.

"Don't worry friend, this shouldn't take long."

Alistro was whispering to himself, running his hand along the blade of the knife. When it started to glow with a greenish light, the Jotun grabbed Loki's hair to hold his head still.

He placed the tip of the knife at the very edge of Loki's eye. Loki was struggling to keep his composure, his breathing was heavy and shaky. '_What is he doing?'_

Alistro dragged the knife from Loki's eye to the corner of his mouth. Loki flinched as the knife dug in - it was burning hot and painfully sharp. Blood streamed from the long cut as Alistro continued to chant. Loki blinked hard, shivering as blood flooded into his eye.

The grip on his shoulders tightened as Alistro walked behind Loki, picking up one of his arms. Loki flinched, panicking as the knife slit across his wrist. He tried to pull away, but Alistro's grip was firm. Loki's palm was immediately filled with blood, it streamed down his fingers and dripped to the ground.

Alistro walked back around to face Loki. He flicked the knife, flinging a few droplets of blood onto Loki's face and chest. As the drops landed, the green light from the knife flashed brighter, then went dark.

There was a pause, then the crowd started to gasp and mumble. Alistro stared in disbelief at Loki, and Laufey's calm exterior cracked into confusion and disgust. Loki didn't feel any different, '_Except for the freaking cut on my face and the slight problem of a slit wrist'_, and was too preoccupied with trying to wriggle out of the handcuffs to stop the bleeding to ask anyone what was the matter.

"Um, if you don't mind, could you either remove the handcuffs or wrap my wrist so I don't bleed to death? I promise Odin will give you nothing for my dead body." Laufey jerked slightly as Loki broke through his thoughts. He nodded, waving a hand at one of the Jotuns behind Loki. The handcuffs snapped off and Loki immediately whiped his hands in front of him and grabbed his wrist, his hand slipping on the blood. '_Well that was surprisingly eas-'_ He froze as he stared at the skin on his hand.

It was blue.

'_What the… What did he do to me?'_ Loki glanced up at Laufey.

"What did you do?" He asked, voice evenly low. "I didn't realize that one needed to slit one's wrists to turn blue." Laufey was visibly startled.

"You mean you did not know?" He asked. Loki frowned.

"Know what? How to turn someone blue?" Laufey looked thoughtful.

"How strange… Alistro, please show our guest what we're seeing." Alistro nodded, his face was wary. He gathered a handful of snow and blew on it, whispering until it floated in the air and combined to form a mirror of sorts.

Loki flinched, and would've jumped back in surprise. Staring back at him from the mirror was a Frost Giant. A monster with red eyes. But this monster looked just like Loki, down to the bkoody face and slit wrist.

"What is the meaning of this?" Loki demanded, his voice pitching higher. "What is this?"

"It's a mirror, young prince." Laufey said in annoyance. "But why? Why would they raise you?"

Loki's heart was racing. He was trembling and light headed. He shook his head.

"No… this can't be right." He whispered. Laufey looked on with something that approached pity.

"I'm shocked you didn't know. But of course, this raises several problems. Mainly the fact that I was going to use you for ransom, but now I don't know if they'll even want you back." He paused thoughtfully. "Do you suppose they know?"

"It was Asgardian magic, my king," Alistro informed him. "At least one of their kind must have known."

"Yes, but do the King and Queen know that their 'son' is actually their enemy?" Laufey's gaze sharpened. "How old are you, boy?" Loki was still staring at his reflection in shock.

"Prince Loki, at least I assume, do the Asgardians know this?" Loki shook his had faintly, disgust welling up in him.

"If they do, I certainly don't know." Perhaps it wasn't wise to be admitting this to the enemy king, but Loki was unable to hide his surprise. Besides, if this really wasn't an illusion, Loki himself was a monster. An enemy of Asgard.

"How old are you?" Snarled Laufey. "Tell me." Loki quickly weighed the cost of this information as Alistro pulled out his knife again.

"1050." He said, searching Laufey's face to see what this meant to him. Laufey's face fell, then filled with disgust. Loki was startled by such a vivid reaction. What was going on?

The murmurs around the room were growing, discomfort was palpable.

"Take this runt out of my sight. I don't care what you do to him as long as you leave him alive. We may still be able to use him to our advantage."

**A/N I know I said I would finish this, but I'm running out of time. I will try to wrap this up tomorrow, maybe with the prompt Ransom. My laptop is dying and it's really late, lol.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N Hey guys, sorry for not posting yesterday. I was feeling really unmotivated. Also, Disney Plus has Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes, and it's like reliving my childhood. It was such a good show!**

Loki - Ransom

'_Kill the Frost Giants!' A little boy swung a wooden sword at his playmate. 'Destroy the monsters!' The other kid laughed, jumping away and crouching to the ground like an animal._

'_I'm a Jotun, and I want to eat your children!' He said, growling. The pair scuffled for a bit, before the boy with the sword pinned down his friend._

'_The Asgardians will always beat the Frost Giants!' He proclaimed proudly. 'Our warriors are victorious once again!' The boy swung his sword down, pretending to chop the 'Jotun's' head off. The boy on the ground choked, thrashing about in his best attempt at death throes. _

'_Bleh… puny gods…' _

Loki was slumped against the wall of a small room. He was staring numbly at his hands, struggling to accept what he was seeing.

The Frost Giants had lead him out of the throne room and had thrown him into a tiny room that was unfurnished except for some metal poles. They'd looked uneasy and hadn't closed the door, instead attaching the chains around Loki's feet to the metal pole and standing guard out in the hallway.

But, of course, he wasn't left alone for long.

Loki heard footsteps approaching, then a short exchange between the guards. He was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms propped on his legs awkwardly so he could keep a firm grip on his wrist. He barely glanced up as the new Jotun entered the room.

"I have a few questions for you." Loki glanced down indifferently.

"Naturally."

"We'll start with the basics. What is your name and title?" Loki's breath hitched. At this point, he really wasn't certain. Of course, he wasn't going to grant the Frost Giants access to his inner turmoil.

"Loki Odinson. Prince of Asgard." '_Although now I know that I'm not Odin's son and have no claim to the throne.'_ The Jotun was clearly thinking along the same line and scoffed.

"And how are you _really?"_ Loki raised his head imperiously.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"We will find out." Snarled the Frost Giant.

"Well, considering I don't know the answer to your question, when you figure it out, please feel inclined to share your discovery with me." The Jotun growled, his fist clenching by his side. Loki was feeling dizzy and disorientated from having to crane his neck to stare up at the creature and feel the warm blood trickle down his neck. He blinked slowly, staring at his blue hand.

"Were you really raised as an Asgardian?"

"Apparently."

"And you did not cast the concealment spell yourself?"

"No."

"How did you not notice?" He asked. Loki was wondering the same thing, but he chose to ignore the question.

"If you don't mind, could you bring me some bandages? So I don't bleed out and die before you can use me as ransom?" The Jotun frowned.

"A few more questions. Does Odin know? Or Frigga?" Loki honestly didn't know. But if they didn't and the Frost Giants told them, they may refuse to take him back, and he would be stuck with the Frost Giants. He rolled his eyes.

"Clearly. No one but Frigga could cast such a long-standing and discreet spell."

The Frost Giant grinned at him. "Perhaps you will regret your insolence soon. There is a reason you weren't raised in Jotunheim - when runts like you are born, they're left out to die. You're worthless, and a disgrace to our race."

Loki shrugged. "I'd rather _not _be a part of your race. I'm pleased that you don't consider me to be a monster like yourself." He spat, the disgust finally boiling over. The Jotun laughed.

"But it doesn't matter what I think. You can't change your blood." He turned to walk out of the room. "I think there are a few others who want to talk to you." Loki could hear muttering from the hallway, along with snarling. A few minutes passed, and then the Frost Giant who had wanted to rip his eyes out stalked in, smirking slightly. Loki groaned internally. '_Well this is going to be fun.' _

"Welcome to my humble abode." He said sarcastically. He nodded to the ground. "Why don't you have a seat?" Loki tried to to let his fear show as the Jotun stalked closer, looming over him. He was really feeling like a runt.

"Funny. I came here to let you know two things. One: Odin killed my brother. Two: Laufey's son or not, you were raised in Odin's household and I mean to get my revenge."

Loki suddenly felt very dizzy. "W-what?" He gasped. The Giant smiled cruelly.

"A head for an eye, as they say. Now-" Loki cut him off.

"Laufey's son?" The Jotun's smile dropped. "Is that who you think I am?"

"Even the king's offspring can be runts. You were meant to die, not live to the age of inheritance." Loki couldn't focus, the room was spinning. '_Laufey's son? Is that who I am?'_ He couldn't make out the next words from the Jotun, but they appeared to be threats, because the next thing Loki knew, he was sprawled on the floor with someone on top off him. The Jotun had a knife and was cutting into his chest. Loki yelped in surprise, before biting his tongue. He refused to give the Giant any satisfaction.

Loki suddenly felt very cold. He was very aware of his hand becoming warm and wet with blood from his wrist. The Jotun snarled something, but Loki was too far gone to hear it.

When Loki awoke, he was still laying on the ground. His arm was resting across his chest, and his upper body was splattered with blood. There was a small puddle of the stuff next to him as well.

His wrist was wrapped, at the very least, but nothing had been done to the cut on his face or his chest. They would leave nasty scars. Of course, nothing was more disfiguring to his appearance than the icey blue markings. He pushed himself up so that he was leaning against a wall and considered the chains around his feet.

He barely had time to contemplate breaking them when he heard voices outside the room. He stood up, shaking out his legs and trying to roll the stiffness from his shoulders.

The same Frost Giant who had been questioning him walked in, as did two others.

"Well, _Prince_ Loki," He said with a mocking bow. "Gracious King Laufey has decided to return you to Asgard." Loki remained silent. '_How do I know if they'll want me back?' _He wondered looking at his hands. The Jotun caught his glance and grinned.

"No good having second thoughts. You're not welcome here either." Loki glared at him, annoyed with himself for being transparent.

"When can I leave?" He asked.

"Now."

Loki was being dragged along. He was once again blindfolded and struggling to keep up with the Giants' long strides.

'_Focus! You need to focus!' _Loki was panicking, his breathing heavy. He was trying to work an illusion spell like the one that had been on him, but was still too weak for it to be effective.

The group slowed to a stop, and Loki could make out the sound of whispered magic. They were opening a portal. Panic threatened to overwhelm Loki, and as they started to push him forward, he had to say something.

"Can you- can you put the spell back on?" He blurred out, cringing at how pathetic he sounded.

Sure enough, he was met with laughs.

"And why would we do that, little prince?"

Loki's mind was racing. "Well, the Asgardians may not give you a random for a Frost Giant, and then you would have failed your mission."

"I see this situation as an absolute win. Think of all the fun we could have back in Jotunheim. How much information we could garner about Asgard." Loki was paralyzed with fear, and almost fell over when they pushed him again.

The rest of the trip was a blur. Loki couldn't think of hear over the panic. Eventually, they stopped again.

"Wait here. I will go to seek an audience with Odin."

The wait was long and painful. Loki was standing when the Jotun had left, but soon found himself on the ground, knees pulled to his chest as he fought to control his breathing. What would Odin say? Gods, what would Thor think? Did Frigga really fast the spell? Or would she be repulsed by him?

Voices could be heard as a group approached.

"Need I remind you that if this is an ambush, Jotunhiem will pay dearly."

"This is no trick, King Odin. Your son is here." A few footsteps, crunching leaves, and then dead silence. The blindfold was ripped off, and Loki blinked at the bright light. He saw Odin staring at him and shot up. Frigga was not there, but Odin and a handful of other Asgardians were. Loki felt lighter than air, the sun was too bright and the day was too warm.

"We will pay your ransom." Odin said finally, looking away from Loki to meet the eager eyes of the Jotun. He looked confused for a second, before his face slipped back onto a mask of calm.

"Wonderful. We will wait here with Loki while you bring it." Odin nodded, and as he was turning to leave Thor finally spoke up.

"What in the Norns is this?" His face was red, Mjlonir swinging back and forth. "What have you done to him?" The Frost Giant grinned at Thor. "We have simply revealed his true self."

Odin layed a warning hand on Thor's shoulder, but there was no stopping him.

"What does that mean? Loki's not a Frost Giant! He's my brother!" Loki stares at the ground bitterly and spoke up before the Jotun could.

"Apparently, _brother_, I am a Jotun. I was abandoned by Laufey and somehow Odin found me and decided to raise me as an Asgardians prince." Loki's fear, disgust, and bitterness crept into his voice as he stared at the ground.

"Father! What-"

"Thor. _Enough_. All you need to know for now is that Loki is adopted. It's not that hard to understand. We will talk about this when Loki is safe with us once again."

The Frost Giant snorted, but seemed disappointed at Odin's reaction. "If you want the worthless runt then by all means, take it."

Odin glared at him.

"Loki is my son. He could never be and will never be worthless. I will gladly welcome him back."

Loki felt his chest loosen and he swayed with disbelief and relief.

Did things really work themselves out so perfectly?


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N Thanks so much to the Guest who reviewed! You're right, I use Google Documents and the spell check is sometimes more of a hindrance than a help. I'm hoping to go back and fix the errors soonish.**

**This chapter is ju****st going to be after the first Avengers movie, the team is on some mission together. Use your imagination for the enemy— I'm thinking robots** **(:**

Tony - Asphyxiation

"Alright guys, that's the last of t-"

Tony's voice was cut off as something exploded against his side, knocking him out of the air.

"Maybe not!" He yelped, the sky and ground blending together as he spun. "Jarvis!"

"The blast has knocked out most of your power, sir. Your flight pattern has been disrupted and you'll be hitting the ground in about 20 seconds."

"Divert all the backup power to the thrusters!" Tony yelled. His boots flared to life, sputtering alarmingly.  
He straightened out, yelling with the effort. The ground was fast-approaching, but Tony could see a nearby lake. He angled himself towards, praying that his thrusters could get him there before he crash-landed.

"5 seconds, sir." Tony kept his gaze fixed on the lake, plummeting nearer and nearer. He crashed through some tree branches and ploughed into the water.

A loud roar slammed into him, bubbles and murk swirling like a tornado. The display flickered and went black.

It was strangely quiet at the bottom of the lake, except for the bubbles streaming up past him. Tony remained still for a moment, fighting to get his breath back. The impact had completely winded him.

Tony flinched violently as something dripped on his face. His mask had cracked, and water was trickling in. His heart thumped frantically as he tried to launch himself out of the lake.

"Jarvis!"

Nothing happened. The drip turned into a stream as the crack widened.

"JARVIS!" Tony thrashed, giving up on the power and trying to swim up.

No response. Tony was choking over his panicky breathing. He tried to kick, but his legs were stuck in the mud.

The helmet cracked even more, the water splashing Tony's face. Tony coughed, jerking his head back. Memories of the Afghanistan cave came flooding in with the lake water.

"JARV-" Tony choked, gagging as the water rose above his mouth.

Tony kicked, wiggling frantically.

He couldn't breath.

He couldn't see.

He was helpless.

It was like Afghanistan all over again. Where was Yinsen?

Tony's lungs were screaming for oxygen. He couldn't budge - he was stuck.

Tony gasped, choking as water flooded his mouth.

This time, no one pulled him out.

Tony gagged, choking as the water filled his lungs. Fiery pain lanced through his chest, and he still. Couldn't. Breath.

Tony's body jerked abruptly. His head lolled as someone yanked him up.

He slammed into solid ground, and his helmet was yanked off. Tony gasped for air, curling in on himself from the pain of the water still in his lungs. He choked, gagging as he vomited the water.

He flinched as someone grabbed his shoulders, certain he was about to be thrust back in the water. "_Nonononono not again, please not again."_

"Please-" He croaked, cringing. He cut himself off.

The man gripped his other shoulder, and Tony lurched upright, fighting to break free. To his shock, the grip loosened, and he wasn't forced back into the water.

Tony's eyes were squeezed shut as he waited for the retaliation. Anything was better than the water. He lay there, curled into a ball for several minutes before his breathing came easier. It slowly occured to him that no one was beating him and no one was drowning him. Were the guards gone for today?  
Tony gingerly opened his eyes, still breathing panickedly. He flinched as bright light met him. What had happened to the darkness?

"Tony?" Tony's gaze flicked to the man who had spoken.

'_Oh.'_

"Steve?" His voice cracked as it finally dawned on him that his wasn't in the cave. He was laying on the shore of a lake, his friends gathered in a circle around him looking at him with worry.

"Tony, it's okay. You're in New York. You're with the Avengers. You're safe." Steve was crouched a few feet away, speaking cautiously. Tony nodded, pushing himself into a sitting position. He coughed, hacking up more water. Everyone was silent as they watched him.  
"Um… Sorry about that guys." Tony laughed nervously. "But, hey, we got em all, right?"

"Yeah, Tony, they're all gone." Natasha said. She, Steve, and Bruce were all gathered around him. Thor and Barton were missing. "What was that?" She asked. Tony feigned surprise.

"The lake? I believe it's a pretty standard body of water-"

"Tony." Steve's voice was calm, but firm. "I know what PTSD looks like." Tony stiffened, staring at the ground.

"Then why are you asking? We should be cleaning up."

"Thor and Hawkeye are on it." Bruce said slowly. He sat down next to Tony. "You wanna tell us anything? Do you think we could help?" Tony hummed to himself.

"I want a cheeseburger. That's how you can help." He joked, grinning half-heartedly. His friends just gazed at him. He shifted uncomfortably. "Fine. I was kidnapped in Afghanistan by some crazy towns who wanted me to work on some missile for them. I wasn't exactly an easy prisoner, so now I don't do well with water." Tony shuddered, swallowing hard. "On the positive side, I made my first Ironman suit there." He shrugged. "There's not much to tell." Steve looked at him sadly, Bruce's gaze was pitying, and even Nat softened. He scoffed. "I don't want your pity."  
"It's not pity, Tony. It's sympathy. If it helps, I'm not so great with swimming now either. Not since I crashed into the ice." Steve said, shuffling awkwardly. Bruce coughed.  
"Yeah Tony, I've got some PTSD too. It helps to talk about. It helps to know that you're not alone." Nat nodded.

"I can't stand potatoes." She offered. Tony couldn't hold back a snort.

"Potatoes?" She shrugged.

"Truer words have never been spoken." Tony coughed, rubbing his aching chest.  
"I just… I see the cave - I can hear them."

"You're not alone Tony. We're a team. We all have baggage, and I'm pretty sure we can handle one more sob story." Barton said, appearing at Tony's shoulder. Tony grinned at him.  
"Only if I get to hear yours."

"Maybe one day." He said, grinning. He reached down to help Tony up. "Let's go get some cheeseburgers."


	14. Chapter 14

Nat- Isolation

**A/N Ahhhhh guys I'm so sorry! I dont even know how many days I've missed. I have many excuses, since I went out of town, had my first speech and debate tournament, and the regional cross country meet, but I still can't believe I skipped so much. I plan on finishing all the prompts, but this is definitely going to leak into December… So much for whump-tober, haha. **

Very few things surprised Natasha. She had trained for every circumstance, prepared for anything. She could fight or talk her way out of any situation.

But this was one of those rare times where she was taken off guard.

The plan had been to infiltrate an underground organization that had suspected HYDRA orgins in order to ascertain the threat level and possibly terminate them. There was no hope of getting in as a free agent, so Nat had decided to be caught 'attempting' to break in. Sure enough, they had caught her and taken her prisoner, intent on interrogating about her knowledge on their group.

The surprising part came when they somehow figured out that she was the Black Widow. They had just started the interrogation process when a younger man had entered the room and whispered a message to the interrogater. Natasha had managed to overhear enough to realise they had discovered her code name.

Normally, if her enemies figured out who she was, they were all the more happy to question her. They thought they could get detailed info about SHIELD from her, or they wanted to exact revenge.

It never turned out they way they wanted it to.

So when she heard the name 'Black Widow' she did not expect for the men to immediately exit the room and not come back.

That had been about 6 hours ago. They had left her tied to the same chair, with the same cameras pointed at her. Her arms were tied behind her back and had gone numb within the first hour. She managed to free her feet, but it took her a solid hour in her shoes. She managed to get her shoes off and started working to use her toes to untie her hands. She finally loosened the rope on her hands, after spending an hour curled backwards like a cat. Her hands fell to her sides, and she pushed herself into a corner, waiting until the feeling returned. It had taken her 3 hours to free herself, and she knew that she was really pushing it.

As 6 hours turned into 7 and then 8, Natasha started to feel fear creeping up on her. '_What if they don't come back?'_ She hadn't tried the door yet, she didn't want to be killed trying to 'escape' if she could still succeed with her mission.

A full day passed. Natasha had drifted off, but when she woke, she started counting the hours. She was already hungry and thirsty, but she was trained to outlast her enemies.

9 hours. Of course, it was entirely possible they were leaving her there over night and wouldn't bother to come back until the next evening, but the way they had left and not looked back as soon as her name was spoken struck her as odd. She started to pace.

10 hours. SHIELD would be expecting a report in around an hour. If she couldn't make it out, they would probably just assume that she was unable to make contact. Natasha's breathing was starting to come a little bit quicker. She always appreciated alone time, but extended periods of just her mind for company was torture.

At 11 hours, she was slumped in a corner.

At 12 hours, she couldn't take it. She needed to get out. She needed something to drown out the ballet music and dripping blood in her head. She rose unsteadily and approached the door. There was no handle or lock on the inside. She ran her hands all along the cracks, but couldn't find any leverage. Natasha leaned her head against the cool metal, panting. '_You're not stuck. Pull yourself together.'_

13

14

15 hours. The music in her head had grown louder. Natasha was hugging her knees, her head down. She couldn't breathe.

16

17 _Why is no one coming?_

18

19

20 hours. Natasha could feel her resolve cracking. Her eyelids were growing heavy, but she refused to sleep.

At 21 hours, she was sobbing, rocking back and forth.

_No one is going to be looking for you. No one wants anything to do with you._

At 24 hours, Natasha realized she had been stuck in the room for two full days. No one had so much as coughed outside the door.

She had managed to get her emotions under control, but now she could feel a deep thirst creeping up. Natasha counted to 25, then drifted back off to sleep.

When Natasha woke up on the third day of her isolation, her head felt clearer and she berated herself for showing weakness.

Her training had covered isolation. She couldn't let herself forget. Natasha stood up shakely. She walked around the room until she felt less cramped, then sat back and stretched for an hour.

Her throat had moved passed aching, and she felt as though there were two hot rods pressing at the back of her throat. She swallowed, trying to ignore the pain.

Her stomach was biting as well, as she was nauseous from hunger.

Natasha was feeling drowsy again, and allowed herself to drift off.

Natasha floated in and out of a fog for several hours.

She eventually forced herself awake, standing up and bracing herself against the wall. She paced back and forth, trying desperately to remain alert. _It's no good_ she told herself. _You're going to run out of energy soon. You won't last much longer without water. _She shook her head briskly, driving away the thought.

Her voice turned out to be right. Within a few hours her legs were trembling, and her head was spinning. Natasha collapsed back in her corner, leaning her head against the wall.

Natasha hadn't even been aware of falling asleep again. She jolted awake from a dream about the red room. She'd been pointing a gun at a man who'd been pointing his gun at the girl behind Nat who had been aiming at her.

Natasha had jumped up when a gunshot rang out. She didn't know who's it was.

Natasha started pacing again, stumbling back and forth across the cramped room. When her heart slowed to a normal rhythm, Natasha sat down again, trying to conserve her energy.

Another few hours passed, and as Natasha counted the hours, a sense of dread sunk deeper in.

It seemed like no one was coming for her.

_The Avenger's know you're here._

_But they don't know that you're by yourself. _She argued. _They don't know you're being starved. _She closed her eyes, slowly sinking into a dark pit that seemed centered around her chest. _Why aren't they here yet? I haven't checked in with them at all. They have to know something's wrong. _

_What if they don't care?_ Natasha took a shuddering breath at the thought. _They have no reason to care. _

Nat was vaguely aware of moisture on her cheeks. She didn't bother to wipe her eyes as she gave in the hopelessness. Natasha slumped completely against the wall, falling into the blackness that had steadily overtaken her mind.

A hand fell on her shoulder shaking her awake. Normally, she would have her attacker pinned to the floor, but in her state, she barely managed to open her eyes and cringe away.

She blinked, heart racing as she raised her arms to cover her face. She tried to get out a warning, but her throat was too dry to make a noise.

The hands were pulling her up, and she struggled desperately, trying to get away.

"Tasha! Natasha!" Her heads whipped up, making eye contact with her attacker.

She froze.

It was Clint.

"Wha-" She croaked, wincing.

"Tasha! Oh shit. Tasha, hang on. We got you. I got you." Natasha's head was swimming, all she could focus on was Clint as he picked her up.

He had come back for her. She relaxed, head lolling. He hadn't abandoned her. _So there. _She told herself triumphantly. _They didn't leave you._


	15. Chapter 15

MJ - Laced Drink **A/N I just realized something discouraging… I'm barely halfway there, haha. I'm having fun with these prompts, but I think I underestimated how much of a time commitment this would be. Fair warning, I've got a crazy busy week coming up. My college classes don't take off the week of Thanksgiving, I have some friends coming in from out of town who want to catch up, I've got a final paper due, and, of course, Thanksgiving with my family. So yeah, thanks for bearing with me!** '_Is this what it feels like to be drunk?'_ that was the one clear thought that ran through MJ's head. She stumbled, falling against a wall. The lights were flashing, the music was unintelligeble, and she couldn't see where Peter and Ned had gone off to. Was she really drunk? She'd just grabbed one cup of the unidentifiable punch, not really caring what was in it. MJ lurched, covering her mouth with a hand. That had been a mistake. She was very close to- Aaaaand there it went. She vomited right where she was standing, her stomach finally rebelling. '_Oh come on…' _She hadn't even drunk that much. Was she really that much of a light weight? Something was definitely off, but MJ was having trouble focusing her eyes, much less her thoughts. She staggered backwards, gagging. She needed to get outside. Like, right now. The heat was pulsing and pressing in, making her body ache and her stomach turn. She tripped, trying to find the door. '_Oh'_ Somehow, she made it outside. '_The stars are nice. Is that Orion's belt?' _She squeezed her eyes, trying to find constellations. Her head was ringing and throbbing. Her arm was stinging too. '_What?' _She opened her eyes, seeing a caterpillar crawling through the grass. '_Ah.'_ She'd fallen on the ground. '_Should probably get up.'_ But her eyes were getting heavy. She was too tired to even think clearly. Just before she drifted off, footsteps thumped by her head. Painstakingly, she opened one eye, fighting to see through the blurry haze that had fallen. "-her feet-" a low voice cut through to her ears. Someone grabbed her ankles, and someone gripped her shoulders. She wiggled weakly. '_Hey…' _This definitely wasn't right. MJ struggled awake just enough to carefully and discreetly loosen and drop her bracelet. She winced as it thumped to the ground, already drifting off into unconscious. She never took off that bracelet - it was a gift from her father.  
She was screaming at herself - she needed to wake up. Her eyes snapped open as she was dropped to the floor of a car. A door slammed. She tried to sit up, but ended up cracking her head against a seat as the car jerked forward. There was a brief flash of pain, then everything was quiet. *** "- come?" "He should…" "- saw her talking to him and that one other kid."  
"Yeah he didn't exactly seem to have many friends." " - only a matter of time."  
'_Who do they think is coming to rescue me?' _ MJ hesitated as she clawed her way back into consciousness. She didn't open her eyes, trying to figure out her surroundings. She was laying on cold, hard, cement. Her hands were tied loosely behind her back. She nearly scoffed at this realization. The bounds wouldn't hold her if she really wanted to get out. "We just need to wait. He'll show up soon." '_Oh' _The realization hit her like a charging rhino on one of those national geographic shows. They thought Peter was coming to save her. Well, they were not in luck. He was pretty daft - a typical teenage boy. It'd be a miracle if he found her. He didn't even know that she knew he was Spider-Man. Well, she had been pretty sure. But this situation confirmed her suspisions. Who else would be looking for her? A small thrill of triumphant went through her at this small victory. "But what if he doesn't?" There was some grumbling. "What'll we do with her?" MJ felt a wave of freezing fear as the men went silent. "I mean… she didn't see us, did she? She was out when we got to her?" MJ realized she wasn't breathing, and forced herself to take slow, even breaths. "We could just leave her here, or somewhere else." If the only reason they were keeping her alive was the fact they thought they were anominous, she wanted it to stay that way. "But what if she saw our faces? How do we know she wasn't completely out when we grabbed her?" "Hey, let's not worry about it. That stupid kid will show up." "If not… well I can think of some things to do with her." One of the men chuckled. MJ forced herself not to tense up. '_Peter if you don't find me, I will kill you.'_ Her blood ran cold. '_If I get out of here alive, that is.'_ She regulated her breathing with a huge effort. '_Please Peter. What's the use of having a super hero for a friend if you're not going to help me out?' _ From listening, MJ counted 5 men. Even though she could get out of the bounds, she didn't like her odds. She still felt sluggish from whatever drug they had put in her cup. "If only he had grabbed that drink instead of the girl. Then we wouldn't have this situation at all." Oh, that made more sense. They _had_ tried to get Peter first, and had just decided to make do with her when she had drunk it instead. '_Stupid. How unlucky can you get?' _She carefully opened her eyes a slit, trying to look around. She was slumped in the corner of a poorly lit room. It seemed to be a store room of sorts, as she was surrounded by boxes. There was an open door in the wall across from her, and the men were all seated on crates in between the door and her. _Maybe if I - yeah, no.'_ There was no way she was going to be able to run around them and beat all of them out the door. She didn't even know what was beyond the exit. '_Are you shitting me.'_ How did she end up in this situation. '_Parker, I'm gonna kill you.'_ Her best apparent option was to wait for Peter to show up. Like some stupid damsel in distress. *** An hour passed, and MJ was finding it increasingly hard to stay still. She was growing concerned - she didn't know how long her captors would believe she was really unconscious. What if they decided to check? What if they decided she was too much of a hindrance and just offed her? "How long are we gonna wait?" The tall dude seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "And how long is that girl gonna be unconscious?" The blonde dude shrugged. He had a sketchy mustache. "Not sure. It was a pretty high dosage, but that's cause we were trying to get Spider-Man. I don't know how long a normal person is gonna be under." There was a tense silence. "Huh. What if we overdosed her?" The men shifted, uncomfortable. One of the men with a lot of tattoos spoke up. "So what? Spider-Man doesn't have to know that. He'll still come looking, right? So does it matter?" "Good point." The tall dude was just opening his mouth to say something. "Alright, but what if-" And the room exploded. MJ yelped involuntarily as flames burst through the door. The ceiling cracked open, and a high pitched whirring noise echoed around. Her captors were yelling, scrambling around to grab guns. A lithe figure jumped into the room, webs flying from his hands. The men who were struck fell to the ground, writhing as the webs appeard to act as a taser of sorts. MJ jumped up, wriggling out of her bounds. She covered her mouth from the smoke, running for the door. She was almost there. Almost - She was yanked to a stop as someone grabbed her arm. She yelped, turning to strike whoever was holding her. It was the tall dude. He blocked her punch with his other hand, grinning at her. "Freeze!" He yelled, "Stop moving or I'll break her neck!" Spider-Man froze, crouching to the ground. All the other men were on the ground, still or groaning in pain. "Let her go." "No can do-" MJ glared at him, kicking up and between his legs. Hard. He grunted, relaxing his grip as he leaned forward. She wrenched her arm free, elbowing up and making contact with his nose. He wheezed, stumbling away. She turned and ran for the door. Thunk. A gleaming suit of armor landed in front of her. MJ's mouth dropped open. "Ironman?" "What's up kiddo. Your buddy Spider-Man called in a favor." She stared, speechless for a moment before she recovered her wits. "Yeah, well, I was a bit busy rescuing myself." She retorted. Ironman laughed. "You looked like you were doing pretty well." He agreed. "But would you like a ride out of here?" MJ paused, pretending to consider before she nodded. "Sure, it beats paying for a cab." Moments later, they were out on the steet. Spider-Man had joined them, and was standing awkwardly a few feet away. "Um, are you- are you okay M- I mean, ma'am?" He said, his voice muffled by the mask. She rolled her eyes. "Yup. Never been better." Her voice broke and she winced. '_Damn. Way to go.'_ "You know, Peter, you sure took your time in showing up." She laughed shakily as his eyes widened.  
"Wait - what? You know my name?" Ironman laughed to. "Way to go kid. You're killing this secret identity thing. Now, I'm gonna go drop these guys off at a local police station. See you around." With that, Ironman fired up his suit and flew away, leaving MJ and Peter alone. The former ripped off his mask, revealing a bright red face and tousled hair. "How did you find out?" MJ laughed at his shocked face. "I mean, you're not too subtle. I'm surprised more people haven't figured it out." Peter shrugged, embarrased. "Uh, I guess." There was an uncomfortable pause. MJ shivered, her head growing foggy again as the adrenaline wore off. Peter noticed, and stepped forward to steady her. She flinched as he touched her arm, and he jumped back with alarm.  
"Ah! Geez, I'm sorry! Are you hurt?" MJ shook her head. "Nothing too dramatic. Just… on edge. Sorry." Peter looked distressed. "Geez, MJ. I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. They were after me, and I let them take you instead." MJ paused. She didn't really know what to say. "Technically true, I guess." She admitted, studying his face. "But don't blame yourself, Peter. You showed up - that's the important thing." He looked ready to argued as she spoke. "Seriously, 'Spider-Man', don't beat yourself up. I guess if I'm gonna be friends with a super hero, I gotta accept the risks." She grinned at him. "As long as you beat up all the bad guys who try and get your friends, I think I can deal with it." He grinned, still looking anxious. "Don't worry, I won't let it happen again." "Good. Now give me a ride home. I'm tired." 


	16. Chapter 16

Loki- Trembling

**A/N Hey guys! Sorry again, I was super busy with homework because my math teacher doesn't care that it's Thanksgiving week. I've also been mildly sick, so I mostly just want to sleep.**

**Anyways, this takes place several years before the first Thor when Loki's still pretty young, but almost an adult. I'm twisting it a little bit so that Loki knows he's a Frost Giant. Odin and Frigga know as well, but no one else does.**

"Attack! Loki, you can't just fend off her attacks the whole fight!"

Loki growled, dodging another swipe of Sif's sword.

"Maybe I'm just wearing her out!" He yelled, retreating several steps. Hoenir, the weapon rolled his eyes.

"Well, it sure looks like she's winning." He snorted as Loki barely ducked another swing of the flaming sword. Sif grinned at him.

"At least try and fight back." Loki glowered, parrying with his knives and throwing the goddess backwards. He didn't press his advantage, however. The pair had been sparring for hours under the sun, and Loki was beginning to feel sick. It was infuriating that the other gods, and even the goddesses, never seemed to tire as quickly.

"It's not polite to hit a girl." He snarked, trying to mask his breathlessness. Sif stumbled, barely managing to stay on her feet. She glared at Loki as he didn't move.

"Coward." She spat. Loki winced. There was murder in her eyes. "You'll regret that."

'_No doubt about that.' _He thought dryly.

Sif lunged at him, broadsword sweeping at his ribs. He jumped back, barely evading the blade, and feeling the heat through his armor.

"Stay in the circle!" Hoenir called. Loki glanced down, cursing. He had stepped across the chalk line.

That's when Loki let down his guard. He just assumed that Sif would halt and they would restart the match in the center of the ring.

"Sorr-" Loki yelped, stumbling back as Sif's sword glanced off his chest. "Hold on!" Hoenir pushed Loki forward.

"Fight!" Loki was already off balance, and the shove sent him falling foward.

Right into Sif's backhanded stroke.

_Crack. _Loki's vision whited out as pain bit deeply into his side. His shoulder slammed into the ground at a painful angle, and Loki crumpled in on himself, wheezing. He lay there for a minute, unable to move. Someone was saying something. Loki willed himself to open his eyes and focus.

"Loki? You going to get up?" Hoenir was standing over him, and Sif was trying to muffle her laughter as Loki finally got enough breath to groan.

Sif and Loki were both wearing light armor, but the broadsword (which was magically enchanted to become engulfed with flames whenever Sif said a code word) had easily cut through it.  
"One… Moment." He gasped. He shifted onto his back so he could grab his side. His hand was quickly coated in blood, and he could feel where patches of skin were burned. "Let's just call it." He suggested breathlessly. A look of concern crossed Sif's face.

"Are you okay?" She asked, crouching down next to him. Hoenir sighed, crossing his arms.

"Fine." Loki said shortly. He forced himself to stand up, sucking in a pained breath. "Sif wins. I think it's time to call it a day." He glanced at Hoenir, who shook his head in exasperation.

"You'll never become a great warrior if you don't commit, Prince Loki."

Loki sucked in another shuddering breath. Comments like that came in heaps and loads. Normally, they'd sting and Loki would throw himself back into training. But the pain in his side was too great to ignore.

"The way you tell it, I'm not going to be a great warrior anyways." He growled, wrapping an arm around his side. He found he couldn't stand up straight or take a deep breath. Sif sheathed her sword, stepping forward.

"Are you bleeding?" She asked. Loki shrugged.  
"Just a scratch." He said. Hoenir scoffed.

"A scratch big enough to send him running away with his tail tucked." Loki snarled, flushing.

"I'm going to go clean up." He said stiffly, turning to limp away. Hoenir said something else, but Loki was using all of his concentration to keep moving.

Somehow, Loki made it to his room without collapsing. The moment his door was closed, Loki fell onto his bed, too dizzy to stand. He lay there for several long minutes, catching his breath. He turned his head to the side, focusing on the deep, wine red of his bedsheets. At least if he bleed onto the sheets, it would be easy to clean up. The clean, laundered smell of his room was mixed with the scent of blood, sweat, and dust that Loki had brought in.

He pushed against the alluring softness of the bed and sat up. Loki staggered into the bathroom, the floor tilting alarmingly. He leaned against a wall as he removed his armor and his shirt. Some of the fabric had been glued to his wound from the blood, but Loki managed to get it off without too much extra harm. Clothing discarded, Loki tried to lift his arm to get a good look at the site. He flinched as nauseating pain cut off his movement. '_Okay, fine. Almost definitely some broken ribs, then.'_

He craned his neck around. The wound was still leaking blood down his side and into his pants, but the parts that were burned seemed to have a sort of cauterizing effect. The burns themselves were not to be celebrated, however. Loki's nose twisted at the metallic smell.

Because of his Frost Giant blood, Loki had always reacted badly to burns. Even the smallest ones scarred and took forever to heal. This was one of the worse wounds. It would probably be wise to get it checked out and wrapped up in the infirmary. But as the thought crossed his mind, Hoenir's scathing comments reared up, mocking the pain. Loki gritted his teeth. '_If you go there, they may ask about the burns and start making indiscreet guesses. I can't let anyone know._

So no infirmary.

Loki grabbed a towel and ran it under cold water. He wiped the injury clean, slumped against the wall for support. By the time he had finished, Loki was out of breath, trembling and sweating. He paused, considering his next step and giving himself a break.

He would've like to wrap his chest to help the ribs heal, but that would require covering the burns. Loki knew it was important to leave burns uncovered so that the heat could escape. He ended up soaking the towel in cold water again, stretched out on the bathroom floor, and draped the cold fabric on the wound gently.

The hard floor wasn't exactly the greatest idea on his ribs, and his bruised shoulder screamed as he tried his best to straighten out.

He was pretty annoyed at himself. This entire situation could have been avoided if he had just paid more attention during the sparring round. Not to mention that if it weren't for his traitorous Jotun blood, Loki could quickly get mended at the infirmary. Instead, he was laying on the floor of his bathroom, bleeding everywhere and seconds away from passing out.

He didn't have the energy to get up as the towel grew warm. He allowed the passing time to lull himself into a stupor and drifted off slowly.

**A/N I know, I know, it's super short and I can't believe I'm doing another two-parter! I really should finish this tonight, but I'm falling asleep as I type these words. I'll finish this story tomorrow with the recovery prompt. Until then!**


	17. Chapter 17

Loki- Recovery

**A/N So I actually had most of this written yesterday. I thought it'd be a quick post, but it somehow got away from me. Thanks to those of you who are bearing with me!**

Loki jerked awake as someone pounded on his door. He sat up, wincing as his side protested.

"Loki!" Thor's voice thundered from the hall. "Are you ready for dinner?" Loki struggled to even out his breathing.

"Just a moment!" He called. "You can go without me!"

Loki pulled himself to his feet and staggered out of the bathroom. He quickly changed into a loose tunic and robes. He flinched as the fabric swept across the wound. At least with the loose clothes and several layers, it was unlikely for the cloth to stick to the wound or for the blood to seep through.

As he walked out of the door, he again considered going to the infirmary. He paused in the corridor, thinking it over. '_I can't risk anyone finding out about my heritage… and it's really not that bad, Hoenir barely noticed.'_ He only made it a few more steps before he had to lean against the wall, resting his forehead against the cool marble. The wound was burning, and his ribs were aching. '_On the other hand, I may not make it through dinner unobtrusively.' _

He sighed and turned around. '_I'll just grab burn cream and a scroll on pain-relieving spells. No need to talk to anyone.' _He had to hurry. He didn't want to risk being late for dinner and arousing suspicion.

By the time he reached the medical wing, Loki was sweating and out of breath. He paused outside the door, listening. He sighed - he could hear people moving around inside. Loki waved a trembling hand and cast an illusion over himself.

He glanced down to make sure it had worked. '_Perfect.' _He looked like Eir, one of the Asgardian physicians. Loki was pretty sure that she was having her own dinner after having been out all day making house calls.

He took a shakey breath and pushed the doors open. There were a few people inside the wing, but no one more than glanced in his direction.

He made it to a supply closet and leaned on the doorframe. He grabbed a pot that contained a burn salve and turned to go find a bookshelf.

He grabbed the first scroll in the pain relief slot and staggered out of the medical wing. He dropped the illusion as soon as the doors closed and gasped in relief as the magical drain abated. '_Keep it together.' _He commanded, heading back to his room.

He barely made it.

Loki closed his door and took a trembling step forward.

He collapsed to the floor, yelping slightly. '_Hurry up.'_

Loki knew he was late for dinner, but there wasn't much he could do about it. '_There's no way I'm making it down all those steps right now.' _

Loki tugged open his tunic with shakey hands. The movement had caused it to start bleeding again. He growled softly. Loki opened the salve unsteadily and hastily scooped his fingertips in and smeared it onto the wound. He exhaled heavily, biting his tongue at the stinging sensation. He steeled himself, then rubbed it vigorously into his side.

Loki groaned, turning his head to the side. The firey pain in his side and the stabbing of his ribs grew to a ringing sound in his ears. His shoulders grew so tense that he had to stop.

Loki lay back, hissing through gritted teeth. '_How did this happen?' _He asked himself. '_We were __sparring_ _as in __practicing__. As in taking it easy and not trying to kill each other.'_ When the cream started to numb the pain of the burn, Loki sat up slightly, careful not to rise to much. He pulled out the scroll and slumped back down, unrolling it with one hand.

Thankfully, it wasn't too complicated. Loki was unsure if it would actually help with his broken ribs, but it couldn't hurt to try.  
It was a short spell, and as soon as the last words left his mouth, a soft, cool wave swept across Loki's side. He grinned as the pain numbed slightly.

As he lay there, Loki gradually became aware of a burning, itching sensation from the wound. Within moments, it felt like something was biting into his side.

Loki's hands flew to his side, panicking as the pain worsened. '_It was supposed to help!' _He frantically wiped at the wound. Beneath the white cream, Loki could see where his skin was turning red. He groaned. '_Seriously? An allergic reaction?' _The pain sunk deep into his side, threading it's way like a snake across his abdomen. Loki moaned, hands scratching at the floor. '_Not ideal.'_ He rolled over, ribs grinding, and pulled himself into the bathroom.

He snatched a towel and soaked it in water. Loki wiped it across his ribs, desperately trying to wash out the salve. The motion only aggrivated the wound, and the towel was quickly covered in blood. Loki slumped to the floor, rubbing his hands over his face and panting.

'_Now would be a good time to visit Eir.' _He thought. One look at his chest banished that notion, however. Where the cream had been smeared, the skin had turned purple and blue. The magic that sustained his Asgardian appearance had started to fade, and there was dark purple blood mixing with the red. '_Marvelous.'_

Loki pulled the tunic closed and yanked the robes over him, obscuring the injury.

The thread of pain turned into a torrent and swept him into unconsciousness.

"Loki?" The deep voice was accompanied by more knocking. "Loki, you missed dinner." Thor sounded slightly worried. '_Ha. For once his worries are warranted.'_ It wasn't extraordinarilly uncommon for Loki to miss dinner, and Thor would worry everytime. Normally, Loki would just be caught up in a book, or would be too busy practicing a new spell. Every now and then, an experimental spell would go wrong, and Thor would find Loki unconscious. But those days were now few and far in between.

"Loki, are you okay?" Loki cleared his throat, carefully mastering his voice before speaking up. The last thing he needed right now was Thor questioning him about his blue skin.

"Perfectly fine, thank you. I was just reading." Thor sighed.

"Well, I'm going to go train with Hoenir if you want to join me." '_I'm never training with Hoenir again.'_

"No thank you. Goodnight." Loki felt a pain of guilt for dismissing him, but he couldn't hold a conversation.

"Goodnight."

As Thor's footsteps faded, Loki allowed himself to relax, groaning softly. The pain had spread some, but at least his ribs were quiet at the moment.

He dragged himself into his room and on his bed. He lay there, blinking back tears.

Loki lay there as the hours dragged by. He was unable to breathe properly, and the pain - which had just dragged him into unconsciousness - contrarily refused to let him sleep.

He focused on dragging in one shallow breath after the other. As the night crawled by, Loki started shivering. He was to tired to bother pulling the blankets up, and so he remained still. The only sound in the room was that of his wheezing.

By the time daylight started to creep through his closed curtains, Loki had made up his mind to wrap his chest. Sure, it wouldn't help the burn at all, but it would stop the bleeding and potentially help him breathe better.

Speaking of bleeding, Loki realized that the wound was _still _seeping. He groaned in frustration. The bloodstains wouldn't exactly be inconspicuous. Loki slowly counted to ten, preparing himself to cross the room and bandage his chest. '_Just a few steps.'_

As he swung himself out of bed, the scabs that had formed on the edge of his wound cracked, and his ribs twisted ominously. He sucked in a couple breaths before pushing himself up. He made it to the bathroom and snatched the roll of gauze he kept there. He yanked off his shirt and forced himself to straighten up, panting as his ribs protested.

Loki wrapped the gauze around his chest with jerky motions. He yanked it tight, crying out softly. He paused, gritting his teeth before continuing.

Several agonizing minutes later, Loki was slumped on the floor, eyes closed and taking shakey breaths. He gasped out the pain spell again, relaxing some as the sharp pain turned dull. '_Probably almost time for breakfast.'_ He thought, standing up. He pulled on new clothes and walked slowly out of his room and down the hall.

Breakfast was a chore. Loki forced himself to make civil conversation, but Frigga definitely noticed how stiff he was acting. He played it off, claiming that he was just a bit sore from sparring for so long yesterday.

He could tell she wasn't completely sold, but she thankfully dropped the matter.

Loki refused to spar that day, escaping by accompanying Odin to Svartalfheim for a diplomatic meeting with the dwarves. Normally, Loki would be fascinated by these meetings, but he could barely concentrate on sitting upright.

As the Asgardians headed back Odin held Loki back for a moment.

"Loki. I want to know your thoughts on what the dwarves were saying." Loki felt a thrill of fear. He really should have paid closer attention. "It sounded as though they are experiencing some unrest. Naturally, the dwarves would not want us to know about any weakness in their kingdom, but a civil war among their kind could greatly affect us." Loki tried not to show his shock. He had completely missed that bit of information.  
"Indeed. That would affect our trade with them, and a new government might not be so inclined to ally with us." Odin nodded.

"I am glad you attended this meeting. It is good practice for you. You have the makings of a fine diplomat, even if your weaponry is sorely lacking." Loki winced slightly. Guilt was gnawing at his mind. If Odin really valued his opinions, he would quickly be disappointed when he realized that Loki had not been paying close attention.

Loki's prediction was right. When they sat down with Frigga and Thor to discuss dwarven politics that evening, Odin quickly became frustrated with Loki's vague input.

"Were you really not listening at all?" He asked incredulously. "I thought that perhaps you really wanted to attend the meeting, not just flee from combat training like a child afraid of work." Loki flinched, biting his lip. '_Way to screw yourself over.' _He thought. '_Odin's not going to be as eager for you to attend diplomatic missions anymore.'_

The next day, Loki slipped away after barely eating at breakfast. The wound had become inflamed, and his entire chest was turning purple and warm. He snatched a book from the library and sank into a chair in a remote corner.

He wasn't left in peace for very long, though. Barely half an hour had passed when Hoenir appeared, scowling down at the prince.

"I noticed you skipped training yesterday." Loki shrugged.

"I was attending to important matters." He said vaguely. Hoenir barked out a short laugh, although he did not appear amused.

"And now I find you curled up in the library." He paused, as if expecting Loki to say something. "You're not skipping today, prince. If you don't commit, you'll never amount to a warrior of any amount. A prince should be able to fight with honor and dignity, not crawl away from conflict like a coward. You can barely hold a sword." He spat. Loki snarled, hopping to his feet. That was a mistake, he stumbled as his side flared with pain, and Hoenir laughed.

"I choose to work with knives so I can leave a hand free to cast my spells." He stuttered, trying to defend himself. Hoenir rolled his eyes.  
"Regardless of your cheap sorcery, you'll never intimidate someone by waving a knife when your brother and friends have swords and axes and hammers. Now come." Hoenir swiveled and stalked out of the library. Loki stared after him, considering casting a spell to make him trip and fall flat on his face. Instead, he heaved a labored breath and sat back down, opening his book again. '_If someone underestimates me in a real battle, that will be their mistake. Magic is nothing to scoff at, as I wish I could make everyone realize.'_

Hoenir froze at the door. Loki stared resolutely at his book.

"Come along." He said. Loki raised an eyebrow.

"I don't think I will." He said calmly, delibertaly flipping a page.

"Loki -"

"That's _Prince_ Loki to you." Loki snapped, still seated. Hoenir growled.

"_Prince_ Loki, your father expects you to spar today. He wants to see how you and your brother are progressing." Loki took a shuddering breath, refusing to show his dismay. '_How am I going to spar without completely disgracing myself? Or giving myself away?"_ He stood up stiffly, glaring at Hoenir.

"I will be there momentarily. I must change into my practice armor." Hoenir grinned smugly.

"Don't make us wait any longer." He held the door open for Loki as he stalked out.

Loki made it to his room without incident, but once there he had to lay down on his bed. He was furious with himself. '_If you can't even walk down a hallway, how are you going to fight?' _

He threw on his leather half-armor and grabbed the scroll he had stolen from the hospital wing. He quickly cast the spell and headed out the door. He paused, hand on the doorknob.

Loki's thoughts were racing. It had just occured to him: there was a spell to completely numb any physical pain. All feeling was replaced by a sensation of light pressure. It wasn't a commonly used spell, but sometimes the physicians would use it on patients who needed surgery. It was risky though. '_If I use it, I won't notice any damage that's done to the wound.' _He only hesitated for a moment before he was limping towards the library.

He easily found the scroll, '_Thank the norns'_, and skimmed it quickly to familiarize himself with it. Five minutes later, the last words were breathed out.

The strangest sensation swept over his body. All the pain from his wounds vanished, and it no longer hurt to breathe. However, he found he still couldn't breathe properly, since his ribs weren't actually healed.

He hesitantly took a couple steps. He could barely feel the floor beneath him. Loki grinned, then pinched himself. He could feel something brushing his skin, but no pain. '_Perfect.'_

Loki slipped the book back on the shelf and headed to the courtyard.

Hoenir, Odin, and Thor were waiting for him. Thor was grinning, swinging his hammer around. Hoenir was drawing out a large chalk ring, and Odin was scowling.

"Loki. Kind of you to join us. What exactly were your plans for today?" Loki walked over to the weapons rack and pulled out his knives.

"I had planned to practice a new spell." He said, stretching. Odin sighed.

"You can do that later. It sounds as though you just wanted to get out of battle training." Loki turned away, biting his tongue.

"Well, I'm here now."

"Are you ready, brother?" Thor asked, striding into the ring. Loki rolled his shoulders and took up his position opposite Thor. He glanced at Hoenir and Odin.

"Any specific rules? Anything you really want to see?"

"No magic." Hoenir said immediately.

"No lightning." Odin clarified, glancing at Thor. "We'll have three matches, then I want to see you run drills."

"Salute!" Hoenir called. "Ready!" Loki and Thor locked eyes, swaying on the spot. "And, begin!"

Predictably, Thor lunged immediately. Loki rolled his eyes as he side-stepped, ducking down in anticipation of Thor swinging around to strike again. He slashed his knife at the back of Thor's knee, but Thor swept his hammer down and knocked away Loki's knives. Loki sprang back and stood up, circling warily. Thor lunged, swinging his hammer widely. Loki hopped back, than lunged foward, trying to get in close with his short blades. He managed to get a blade into Thor's armor, but Thor was already swinging back. The hammer hit Loki in the ribs and sent him flying. He crashed to the ground and quickly rolled to his feet.  
Loki staggered back a couple steps, unable to breathe. Thor advanced on him impatiently.

"Come on, brother."

Loki wheezed. Thor seemed to be tilting sideways. Loki shook his head hard sucking in shallow gasps. Thor paused.

"Loki?"

"I'm fine." He gasped automatically. He swiped at Thor with a knife, following up with his other blade as Thor blocked the first strike.

The blades were blunted for this match, but they could still do damage. Thor yelped as Loki's knife hit his shoulder.

Loki wasn't sure what happened next. He was vaguely aware of Thor's hammer on his chest and Hoenir calling the match. The weight on his chest vanished and Thor extended a hand to help him up.

Loki just laid there, struggling to focus.  
"-ki?" Gradually, Thor's worried face grew clearer. Loki was still struggling to breathe, but he could suck in tiny gasps. "Loki, are you okay?"

"Just… you just knocked the breath out of me."

"Then get up." Hoenir snapped. Odin sighed in exasperation as Loki struggled to his feet. He scooped up his knives and took up his position again. "Salute! Ready, and fight!"

Loki didn't last very long in the next fight either. A few clangs of metal later, and Loki was disarmed. Hoenir spoke up as the pair squared off.

"Loki, I don't know if you're aware, but you aren't supposed to be letting Thor kick the shit out of you." Odin laughed.

Thor easily one the next round as well. Loki was barely able to fend him off, much less complete any complicated maneoveurs. He staggered out of the ring as soon as Hoenir called the match, bracing himself against the wall. He heard Hoenir congratulating Thor, and Odin approaching him.

"Loki." Loki tried to get his wheezing under control. "Are you okay?"

"Yup."

"You weren't fighting well." Loki choked out a laugh. He couldn't make eye contact with Odin, the world was spinning too much. "You need to actually try. A prince can't just read all day. You can't just dabble in magic. You need to be able to fight. Thor always bests you in hand-to-hand combat and-"

"Well maybe Thor's just better at it." Loki snapped.

"Perhaps. But you don't seem to care at all. Even if Thor is particularly talented, you can still be a great warrior." Loki didn't respond. Odin sighed. "Honestly, Loki, this is disappointing. You haven't improved since I last watched you two spar. You need to make a change." Odin walked over to Thor when Loki didn't respond. '_What do I say to that?' _He thought furiously. '_Sorry I'm such a disappointment? Hold that thought, let me put on 30 pounds of muscle right quick? Oh yeah, you're right, I'm just going to completely change who I am?'_

Loki somehow made it through the drills without passing out. As soon as he could, he excused himself and all but ran to his room. He barricaded himself up there, and threw off his armor.

He found that the tunic underneath was soaked in blood. He groaned. '_Perfect. I've made it all worse.' _He took a shower with the tunic on, using the water to pry it off his skin without too much excessive yanking.

Under the shirt, the wound was bleeding and malformed. His ribs were bent weirdly, which explained the breathlessness. Loki just hoped he hadn't punctured a lung. He re-wrapped his chest and collapsed on his bed, grateful for the chance to catch his breath. He didn't dare remove the numbing spell, even though it was unnerving to be bleeding and unable to feel the pain from the wound.

Loki skipped dinner. Then breakfast. He was going to skip lunch as well, but there was pounding on his door. He sighed. He wasn't even hungry. He had become nauseous and wanted to do nothing but lie in bed.

"Loki where have you been? You can't sulk in your room forever." Thor's voice thundered from the hallway.

"Believe it or not, I'm not sulking." '_Oh really?'_ "I'm just feeling a bit under the weather and want to rest."

"Do you want me to get Eir?" Thor's tone had shifted to encompass some concern.

"No. I'll be fine."

So Loki lay there undisturbed until dinner, when softer knocks arrived at his door.

"Loki? Are you feeling any better?" It was Frigga.

"I'm fine. I'm just not very hungry. I'm just going to go to sleep."

"Let me know if you need anything." She said, walking away.

During the night, Loki gradually felt worse and worse, until he threw up. He was too weak to keep up the numbing spell, so he let it fade.

The sudden assault of feeling and pain made him throw up again.

His side was on fire, clearly infected. His ribs were like shards of glass. His entire upperbody was sore, and he was shivering and sweating. He forced himself to wash out the wound, but he didn't get very far. As soon as he touched it, black encroached on his vision. One swipe later, and he was unconscious.

Loki woke up a couple of times to dry heave (since there wasn't anything in his stomach to throw up), drifting in and out of a haze. By the time morning arrived, he was back in his bed, half unconscious.

This time, when breakfast came around, Thor wouldn't take no for an answer.

"If you don't want to eat, at least let me in. Tell me what's going on or I'm going to fetch mother."

"Thor, just go." Loki was panicking. His entire upper body was blue, and the bedsheets were stained with blood.

"Brother, no one saw you yesterday. You can't stay in your room all day. Let me help you."

"I'm fine!"

"Then you won't mind a visit from Eir." Footsteps sounded as Thor started to walk away.  
"Wait!" Loki called, voice trembling. "Fine! Come in!" Loki barely managed to pull the covers over the blood as Thor entered, looking concerned.

"Okay, Loki. Tell me what's going on." Loki shrugged, at a loss for words.

"I've got a small fever, Thor. It's nothing."  
"You look terrible." Thor said, eyes racking Loki's pale and thin features.

"Not everyone can look like you." He sniped, sitting back on his bed. Thor paused, awkwardly. "Why won't you let someone help?" Thor asked, genuinely confused. Loki paused. '_I may be able to use this situation.'_

"Too stubborn, I guess." He said sheepishly. Thor scowled.

"Not a good reason. Do you need me to get you medicine?"

"...maybe."

"What type?"

"Something to fight fever and infection."

"Why infection?" Thor asked, walking closer. He studied Loki.

"I just…" Loki sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I just need it. Please." Thor paused, looking anxious to ask more questions. "Please, Thor."

"Alright. I'll be right back."

Over the course of the next few days, Thor was careful to bring Loki medicine. He also brought food and water, and scared off Hoenir. Odin and Frigga had to go to some Dwarven meetings, and by the time they were back, Loki was mostly better. He had, at least, managed to turn his skin back to a pasty white and the wound had scabbed over.

Thankfully, the ribs had set right and were healing, even though it was a slow and painful process. The infection slowly went away, and Loki was able to start moving around the palace again. Thor had pressed for answers only once more, and Loki had refused to explain himself, not wanting to go into much detail. He did tell Thor that he had been injured during a sparring round, and the cut had gotten infected, and that he had probably broken a rib. To Thor's credit, he didn't force Loki to see Eir, although he had mentioned several times that that was exactly what he thought they should do.

In the end, Loki recovered. Thor remained discreet around their parents, something for which Loki was immensely thankful. Now, the only obstacle he had to overcome was the humiliation of battle training.

**A/N Happy Thanksgiving!**


	18. Chapter 18

Peter- pinned down

**A/N So I know some authors do like backlogging or prewriting so they've finished the story or the prompts, or at least have a couple days head start on themselves. I didn't do that at all, lol. I'm using this challenge as a way to get back into the habit of writing again. Clearly, it's not going so great, haha. Anyways, I hope you guys had a great Thanksgiving!**

'_And they said it would be a good idea to join band again.' _

In all fairness, Peter _had _been enjoying himself. He had managed to get past his fear of anyone figuring out his powers and started to relax. Maybe May and Mr. Stark had been right.

He had just been walking to put away his flute when he had tripped.

He had been walking through the backstage of the theatre where the band kept their flags and props. No one else was around. Peter's foot had caught on the corner of one of the set pieces and he had fallen, bringing the wooden poles down with him.

They had hit the lights and some of the heavier pieces that belonged to the drama club. Peter hit the ground and heard a mass of clanging so loud that he curled in on himself, covering his extra-sensitive ears instead of getting to his feet.

And, quite suddenly, Peter was pinned down.

'_Ow.'_ He thought. The pieces had landed on his legs, some had fallen on his side, and yet another was dangerously perched half an inch above his head. '_Oh no.' _

Peter felt the panic start to stir in his stomach. '_Please no.' _He wiggled hesitantly, trying to see how much room he had to maneoveur. '_Nonononono.' _

He couldn't move his legs, he could barely shift his arms, and when he tried to breathe, he found his lungs couldn't expand enough. '_Nononononononononono.' _Peter could barely feel a dull pain in his legs, and he definitely couldn't turn his head enough to see what was wrong with it.

Peter's breathes were coming faster and shallower. He couldn't see through the haze of bright black panic.

He couldn't breathe.

He couldn't move.

He couldn't save himself.

He was worthless.

He tried to wiggle, frantically twisting. His legs wouldn't budge. '_Help me! Helphelphelphelphelp!' _He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see, he couldn't _move._ '_No! Nonononono! I have to fix this!' _

Memories of the abandoned warehouse were rearing up, flooding him with images of Vulture and of falling bricks. Every since that night, Peter had experienced claustrophobia. Peter writhed, throwing his head back in a panic. It cracked against something, making him freeze in his movements. '_Help me. Help me help me help me help me.' _

"Someone please help me! Please! I'm stuck! Please help!" Peter was barely aware of his own shouts. He was pleading for help, someone to free him.

"Help me!"

**A/N Whoa what is this? A single paragraph? This is like a prologue to tomorrows prompt, or I guess later today's prompt. I'm sorry I've been neglecting this challenge! I've been up really late the past two nights doing stuff that I couldn't put off.**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N So I know band people take their instruments home after school, but for the sake of the story, Peter had to leave his at the school for some reason.**

Tony/Peter - Muffled Scream

"Tony, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Your concern is noted, Happy." Tony said cheerfully, getting out of the car. "You go ahead and take the driver's seat. Kid's gonna freak when I walk in there."

"Exactly." Happy muttered, "And all of his classmates."

"He's in band right now!" Tony called over his shoulder, striding toward the school. "Not class!" Happy rolled his eyes, plopping down behind the wheel of the car.

Tony had decided to drop by the school and pick the kid up rather then wait for him to get home. The Avengers had a mission, and it was an assignment which everyone agreed Peter should go on in order to gain experience. Tony knew Peter would be out of his mind with excitement, and he wanted to see the kid's reaction in person. Plus, they couldn't afford to waste any time. Tony had been watching as the students had all left the building (Happy had called him a creepy stalker but hey, all the other parents were doing the exact same thing).

They had just seen the last few kids trickle out from behind the building where the band practiced. The music had died down 15 minutes ago, and Peter still hadn't appeared. Tony wasn't sure what the kid had gotten up to, but he was tired of waiting.

He headed around the building, quickly finding the rally point. It was completely deserted. Tony spun in a slow circle. '_Where would I go if I were a band geek?'_ He asked himself. It seemed only logical to Tony that if he hadn't seen Peter leave school grounds, the kid had to be inside. Tony walked over to the nearest door (using his watch to unlock it) and strolled into the building.

Tony turned down the hallway, heading towards the center of the building when he froze.

A muffled scream was echoing faintly around the corridor. Tony's heart stopped at the sound. He swiveled, trying to pinpoint the source as it faded.

Tony lunged for a nearby door, flinging it open. The scream was gone, and Tony tried to tell himself that he was over-reacting - that someone was laughing or had seen a cricket or something trivial.

He found himself in an empty, dark theatre. It was silent, except for his rapid breathing, and Tony almost turned away.

Just as he was calming himself down, he heard it. Small whimpers mixed with sobs. Tony flinched at the sound, instinctively wanting to back off. '_No, Tony. You're an adult and it sounds like a student is in trouble. For fuck's sake, just go see if they're alright.' _He drove himself forward, fighting off his irrational fear.

As Tony approached the stage, the noises grew louder. Whoever was crying was clearly panicking. Tony, feeling incredibly uncomfortable, climbed the stage and hurried behind the curtains.

Backstage was a mess. Props were littered everywhere, sprawled across the ground and cluttering the walkway. To his horror, the whimpers were coming from _underneath_ a pile of set pieces. Tony jolted forward, intending to start throwing pieces aside before he halted himself. '_What if I hurt them more?' _He cleared his throat.

"Um, hello? Kid?" Tony called hesistantly. The whimpers didn't stop. "Kid." He said louder. "Can you hear me? I want to help." He paused. Nothing. "Kid!" He yelled. The noise paused.

"Is anyone there?" A broken voice called out, muffled from beneath heavy wooden beams. "Please help me!" The kid was now sucking in panicked gasps of air. Tony felt some relief at hearing the kid's voice.

"Don't worry kid, I'm gonna get you out of there. Just yell if I move something and it hurts, okay? I don't wanna crush you."

"Okay." The kid whispered, panting heavily. Tony hesitantly stepped forward, trying to figure out what to do. He tapped his sunglasses and they immediately flicked to give him night vision.

Tony started by shoving a couch out of the way.

"Jesus, kid. How did this happen?"

"I don't know," He gasped. "I- I tripped and I guess- I guess I kn-knocked some things o-over." Tony froze. The voice. He knew that voice. He pulled off some collapsed spotlights.

"Peter?" He asked incredulously, anxiously. "What the hell?"

"Mr. Stark?" Hope leaked into the kid's voice.  
"Yeah, kid, it's me." He paused, at a loss for words. He stepped forward, crouching down now that he could see Peter's face. "Okay Pete, I gotta left this last beam up. It may drop another piece on you, so you need to move as soon as I lift, okay?" Peter nodded, ashen-faced. Tony shifted, getting a grip on the largest beam that lay across Peter's back. "One… Two… Three!" Tony strained, tugging at the beam. He could barely lift it an inch. "Pete… Move!" He grunted. Peter wiggled awkwardly, barely managing to squirm out when Tony let the beam crash back to the ground. "Damn! How'd you manage to knock that over?" He crouched next to Peter, who's face was alarmingly wet, and awkwardly reached out to grab his shoulder. "Peter? You're safe now, I got you." Peter nodded, still struggling to breathe. "Come on, let's go." Tony stood up, reaching down to help Peter up.

Peter struggled for a moment to stand, before falling back with a yelp. He stared at Tony with panic-stricken eyes.

"I-I can't - I can't move them!" He gasped. Tony's stomach dropped. He pulled the kid up and carried him out.

"Jesus, Pete. Just hang in there, you're gonna be fine." Tony moved slowly and awkwardly, encumbered by Peter's weight. "It's gonna be fine."

Tony made it out of the building, then let them both sink to the ground, panting. He tapped his watch. "Hey, Happy, we're at the rally point, you need to drive over here and get us." Peter was flopped awkwardly on the ground, trying to fight the immense pain in his legs. Well. The pain was in his thighs and back, he couldn't really feel his legs below the knee.

He choked on a gasp as images of the collapsing warehouse crept up along with the whirling shadows.

Happy pulled the car up a mere couple of feet from the slumped pair. He jumped out of the car, the picture of distres, and helped Tony to get Peter into the backseat. Tony slid in next to him, and Happy jumped behind the wheel, schreeching the tires in his haste to pull out of the school's parking lot.

The whole way to the Tower, Tony sat with Peter, sometimes offering up reassurances or wisecracks, sometimes whispering instructions into his watch. Peter managed to gasp out a question.

"Why- how did you find me?" Tony studied him with a mix of sadness and aprehension.

"Yeah, about that. The Avengers were going to give you your first mission, and I was there to pick you up." Peter's spirit soared, lifting him breifly above the pain.

"Oh my god, really?" Tony let out the faintest laugh at Peter's reaction. More sad then dismisall. "When?" Peter asked eagerly. Tony sighed.

"Pete, you're not going. It was supposed to be tonight."  
"Supposed?"

"Well, I'm not going now either, so I don't know if anyone else can." Peter frowned as a wave of immense guilt swept over him.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled. Tony shook his head.

"No. Don't be. This isn't you fault. Geez, kid, I'm sorry you had to be there by yourself for so long."

They reached the Tower without any incident. Tony kept trying to raise Peter's spirits, although he seemed rather downcast as well. Peter was lifted into a wheel chair and ushered into a hospital room.

The single remaining nurse turned to Tony with a kind smile.

"You can wait wherever you want. We will text you when he awakes." Tony stared after her, his mind racing.

And with that, he settled down in an uncomfortable chair to wait.

**A/N That really did not turn out the way I had hoped. I can't seem to get the hang of writing Peter and Tony. I may try again when I have more time to brainstorm and edit. **


End file.
